Tiiran, who had jumped to his feet when he’d heard Nikoly, did not sit, not right away. First, he stared with foolish longing at Orin’s lap and thought about how anything he said while Orin held him surely didn’t count, so Nikoly likely wouldn’t mind.
Then he sat. In a chair away from Orin, so he would say less.
He started saying things anyway. “I’m nervous, Orin. Do you know why I’m nervous?”
Orin didn’t lose his smile. “You’re a confused alley cat being offered a place by the fire that you aren’t sure isn’t a trap. You can ask me whatever you want, you know that.”
“But I shouldn’t have to!” Tiiran practically hissed it, which probably amused Orin more. “I should be…”
“Better?” Orin filled in, then turned before Tiiran could hiss at him again.
Nikoly stood at the entrance to the nook, holding a tray with both hands.
Nikoly’s dark, finely embroidered robe was open, as was the top of his shirt beneath, the laces undone. The sunshine, which found him because it always found him, turned the markings around his collar to tantalizing shadows and made his skin look warm to the touch. He was not as tall as Orin, but having that height and being ridiculously handsome meant he attracted attention. He certainly had Orin’s.
And Tiiran’s, but Tiiran ignored that the way he did his best to ignore how Nikoly’s gaze went first to him, and then to Orin, too large in his too small seat. Nikoly’s eyes widened, or so it seemed to Tiiran. His lips parted. A dazzling smile was likely about to emerge.
Tiiran slumped his shoulders and turned from him, though that gave him only Orin to stare at and Orin was busy studying Nikoly.
“Should you even be lifting a heavy tray?” Tiiran muttered, eyes away from any sunflowers. “I told you to rest your wrists.”
“It’s not heavy for me,” Nikoly returned pleasantly, then came forward, stopping once closer to Tiiran. “But I’ll be careful,” he went on, waiting until Tiiran looked up before smiling. “Would you like your tea on the table?”
Hit by that deliberately stupefying smile, Tiiran remembered his usual remark about not being like an asshole Master Keeper who demanded such services long after he should have said it. Nikoly put down the tray and neatly set aside bandages and several jars and vials of ointments or salves for injuries. The teapot he left on the tray, next to the cups, of which there were only two. He hadn’t brought one for himself.
Tiiran shook his head but couldn’t question that now, not with Nikoly there being beautiful and Orin being silent.
Which Orin must have somehow known Tiiran was worried about, because he spoke. “Very thoughtful. Marvelously helpful.” He ignored Tiiran’s brief narrow-eyed look. “Thank him, Tiiran. He’s been good.”
Nikoly jerked his head up, turning toward Orin before quickly looking to Tiiran.
Tiiran swallowed, but did what Orin had suggested he do as the two of them stared at him. “Thank you, Nikoly. This was good of you.”
Nikoly pulled in a deep breath, then glanced to Orin again. Orin wasn’t smiling anymore. Tiiran couldn’t tell if Orin was upset or simply waiting for Tiiran to do something else. Which Tiiran probably should do. Such as introduce them properly.
“Nikoly Astvan, this is Elorin Vahti, known as Orin.”
“Honored to meet you,” Nikoly said immediately with a polite nod.
“Astvan?” Orin repeated, curious. “From Rossick territory?” He raised his eyebrows at Tiiran. “Minor nobility—very minor, no need for you to get up in arms, little cat.”
Tiiran did not get up in arms, though he did make a shocked sound.
“Is it so terrible to you that I’m noble?” Nikoly wondered. “You adore Mattin.”
A scoff escaped Tiiran as he opened and closed his mouth. Nikoly had known Tiiran didn’t recognize his family name and hadn’t informed him it was noble, so he must have guessed Tiiran wouldn’t like that information, something that made Tiiran feel like the worst sort of snobby beat-of-four. That made no sense but there it was. “How minor?” he asked feebly.
“Kitten.” The surprisingly stern reprimand from Orin brought Tiiran’s head up in time to catch Nikoly’s eyes widening.
Tiiran looked to the shelves of books around them. “I suppose it doesn’t matter too much,” he allowed, “as long as you don’t try to give me orders.”
“I won’t give you orders.” The promise tricked Tiiran into meeting Nikoly’s eyes. Then Tiiran realized he was staring, that he had no idea how long he’d been staring or why he was breathing so hard. Then he was suddenly, painfully aware of the silence from Orin.
He cleared his throat. “Tea, Orin?”
“Not at the moment, thank you. Why doesn’t Nikoly stay to drink with you?” Orin seemed friendly and yet Tiiran was made of shivers. Anything, a brush of cloth, a whisper of air, would have made him shake.
“Oh,” was all he could seem to say.
