“People working,” Tiiran answered crisply, “something that shouldn’t be unfamiliar to you.”
Nikoly’s frown was abruptly replaced with a smile so bright it was as if Po had opened a curtain and a sunbeam hit Tiiran full in the face. Mattin made a small sound, clearly also struggling with Nikoly’s handsomeness at this early hour.
“Good morning, Ly.” Mattin recovered first, greeting Nikoly with the nickname some of the others used for him. He turned his large eyes up to Nikoly and Tiiran decided to glower at the diaries and the rest of the work to be done today—if what came in today wasn’t more urgent, which it often was, leaving him with an endless pile of things that needed to be done.
“Isit a good morning?” Nikoly answered playfully, leaning in toward Mattin as if no one would notice. For someone who wasn’t a noble, he sure knew how to talk like one and waste time.
Tiiran sighed heavily. He was being unfairly harsh toward Nikoly today. It wasn’t Nikoly’s fault that he was friendly, and handsome, and friendly while being handsome. It wasn’t Tiiran’s business if Nikoly wanted to flirt with Mattin. Tiiran couldn’t even fault Nikoly’s choice. Mattin looked as delicate as those metal creations in his hair. He had shadows beneath his eyes because he’d been in the library nearly as late as Tiiran had, but that was the only thing marring his loveliness, and it wasn’t marring it much. Most of the more dedicated staff were similarly exhausted. Even Nikoly, who, from what Tiiran had overheard yesterday, had gone out of the palace last night, had still come in on time and would likely stay late tonight. Mattin liked to go out to the capital sometimes too, to listen to bards, he said.
Tiiran flipped through the stack of reports again, then the mail, noting the little scars on his bare wrists from the kitchen and scullery work he’d done as a child. His skin was not soft, not as Mattin’s would be. He didn’t know if Nikoly would have soft skin, but he seemed like someone who would. Maybe not his hands, large and callused from whatever he did when not at the library, but the rest of him. Like Mattin, Nikoly had a bit more money to spend. He was probably a merchant’s son.
Nikoly’s robe was dark, embroidered with light thread along the edges. He never buttoned it up, claiming the capital was too hot already, as if the capital wasn’t known for a light chill in the air even during summer. Lately, he had even taken to leaving the laces of his shirt untied, showing some of the ink that had been pressed into his brown skin with needles to form small designs around the collarbone. There was another, bigger mark on the back of his neck, the outline of a loping dog or wolf, and more designs down his fingers that Tiiran sometimes thought were vines or stylized flowers like they had in certain old tapestries. Then he told himself to stop wondering if Nikoly had flowers on his hands, to stop thinking about his hands at all, and firmly move his thoughts to something else before he wound up imagining a hand inked with flowers around his prick.
They did that in some places farther north—inking, that was; using hands for pleasure was doubtless done everywhere. Although until Nikoly had started work at the library, Tiiran had never seen it for himself. Nikoly also did not wear ear cuffs but instead had his earspierced: tiny dots of metal in his earlobes and up the shell of one ear. He wore a bracelet depicting a rowan tree as well. Mattin had one too. Rowan were beloved by the fae and were considered a good talisman.
“A quiet morning so far,” Mattin said to Nikoly, perhaps enjoying his attention, perhaps staring at the skin around Nikoly’s collarbone and wondering what those inked marks were meant to be and if Nikoly would show him if he asked, “although Tiiran is troubled. More than usual, I think.”
“Troubled?” Nikoly turned toward Tiiran. “If you need help, you have to only to ask.”
“For help?” Tiiran asked in momentary confusion, shaking his head before finally scowling upward. “Who is there to ask? We have no Master Keepers worth anything and no ruler to….” He shut his mouth when Nikoly’s eyes went wide. Nikoly’s eyes weren’t as bright as Mattin’s, but seemed warmer, perhaps because of his lush, dark eyelashes, and eyebrows that went up and down expressively, and mouth that was quick to smile, although right now, Nikoly’s lips were parted with surprise or shock.
He had dark curls that fell over his forehead and over the tops of his ears. The rest of his hair was shaved short. He was strangely elegant for a library assistant.
Tiiran was in a hastily repaired robe of unremarkable color, in equally plain clothes. His skin, slightly more golden in tone than Mattin’s, did not glow when he flushed with heat or anger or embarrassment. His hair was at least six different shades—but all of them brown. Po said his hair shined in sunlight, but Tiiran knew he looked like a pile of fall leaves; fae enough to worry peoplebut not enough to make him pretty.
He ground his teeth together before dropping his head again. “Nothing. Never mind. Of course we have a ruler. Long live King Piya. May he bless the library with more money.”
“Tiiran,” Nikoly seemed to sigh the name, “I meant for you to ask me for help, if it pleases you to.”
Tiiran snapped his head up, then was so lost in Nikoly’s warm stare that he almost didn’t hear Mattin’s quiet, “Yes, I’m happy to do more. You know I am. Even dusting.”
Mattin was terrible at dusting, polishing wood shelves and tables, cleaning windows, and making tea. Also lighting fires. It was probably because he was a beat-of-four and had never done such things in his life until coming here. All his years at the library couldn’t train the frittering noble out of him, though he meant well.
Tiiran dragged his gaze from Nikoly only to be hit with the lovely earnestness of Mattin of the Arlylian, who would take twice as long as anyone else to do basic chores—though hewoulddo them. He loved the library, but menial labor wasn’t a skill of his.
Tiiran pushed the bequeathed diaries toward him. “These need to be looked at and decisions made about them before we know how many copies to make or how to file them.”
Mattin lit up, grabbing the diaries with greedy hands before stopping. “Oh, but that’s a task for...”a Master Keeper. Something they did not have, whatever Toak might claim. It took all of a moment for Mattin to think it over and then lift his chin. “I’ll do it. And I’ll do it quickly. Toak should respect his position more.” He had the diaries held to his chest in the next instant, already distracted as he looked for a good place to sit and work.
“You’re smiling now,” Nikoly observed. His smile had vanished again. It didn’t make him any less handsome.
Tiiran had no idea what Nikoly had to be upset about. “I’m sorry I took Mattin’s attention from you, but the work needs to get done.” Anyway, Tiiran had never known Mattin to take part in the assistants’ bed games. Perhaps he was simply more discreet than the others, but Tiiran had seen outguards go out of their way to get Mattin’s attention and Mattin only nod distractedly before returning to his reading, so Mattin might have been uninterested in bed sport altogether.
Nikoly briefly tipped his head to one side, questioning. “You gave him Master Keeper work.” It was quiet, but Tiiran glanced around anyway, though of course no Master Keepers were to be seen.
“It needs to get done,” Tiiran said again, firmer this time. “And he’s good at it, and knows more than the rest of us. Are you going to tell Toak?”
The bit of nervous tension in Tiiran’s shoulders slipped away when Nikoly shook his head. “Of course not. It does need to get done, and I like it when you take charge, honeybee.”
Tiiran frowned up in warning at the nickname, Nikoly’s version of “Bee,” a name Po sometimes called Tiiran, “Because you sting, little bee.”Nikoly had used the nickname before and only smiled when Tiiran glared.
He smiled again now, sweeter and brighter than even Mattin might have managed, and Tiiran’s glare faltered. He went back to sorting, his gaze safely on something else. “Well, someone has to take charge for now. Otherwise, nothing will get done and the library will fall down around us.”
“Tiiran.” Nikoly’s hand appeared in Tiiran’s line of sight, close to his but not touching. The not-flowers looked familiar, like something that grew in one of the palace gardens. “Really. I’ll help you with whatever you need. You have only to ask.”
“That’s your job.” That was what assistants were supposed to do. Tiiran had no idea why Nikoly would give him a wounded look for the comment when it was true. “And I still don’t know why you sayhoneybeeinstead ofbee. The joke is that I’m mean, not that I’m sweet.” Tiiran was being unnecessarily snappy, even by his standards. “I’m sorry.”
“Tired?” Nikoly’s tone remained pleasant, patient, as though Tiiran was an annoyed beat-of-four library visitor who needed to be calmed. “You left late again, didn’t you? And were here first?”
