Mattin’s eyes were round. Evenhenoticed the way they spoke to each other.
“Come on then,” Tiiran said crossly, knowing Mattin would assume Tiiran’s temper was directed at Toak and not at himself.
Mattin peeked around Tiiran to the two horny goats behind him to say, “It shouldn’t take long.”
Tiiran could have told him they weren’t concerned if Tiiran was coming back tonight, but it seemed the kind of thing Tiiran would have snarled spitefully when he’d been younger because lashing out was what wild beasts did. He really should be beyond that by now. He helped run the Great Library. He had no reason to act as foolishly as nearly every beat-of-four in the palace.
“Nikoly?” he called out, still without turning. “You’ll take care of Orin, won’t you?” He didn’t quite manage to layer his words as they had, but he hoped he got his point across.
“If you like,” Nikoly agreed. Tiiran strained, but that was all he heard in the words. Po might have heard more, but Tiiran wasn’t going to ask her about this. “I think he’s worthy.”
A tiny line appeared between Mattin’s eyes. At least Tiiran wasn’t alone in his confusion.
“Am I?” Orin asked—only curious, not teasing or flirting that Tiiran could tell. But Tiiran had thought ‘Tiiran most worthy’ had also meant something, maybe even something special, when it was clearly just the way people from where Nikoly was from spoke about people they liked.
“I’ll just go deal with this,” Tiiran heard himself saying like a ninny, and reached into the pocket of his robe for his hair pin, only to stop because Orin had told him not to and he didn’t know if that still counted.
The hesitation was enough for Orin to notice. “Tiiran?”
Tiiran started walking, slipping around Mattin and not looking back, leaving Mattin to flutter and chime in his wake.
Orin’s voice followed him out as well, just a few words, but enough to make Tiiran bite his lip hard and walk faster.
“Has anyone ever been as eager to serve as you?”
He wasn’t sure if he imagined Nikoly’s quiet, choked answer.
Chapter Ten
“Please.” Nikoly had said, unless Tiiran had heard wrong. But Tiiran wasn’t thinking about that. It hurt and was confusing, and there were requests to answer and letters to Toak—and the other Master Keepers—to write, and Niksa was shaking and sniffling without end, his eyes watering in even candlelight though he kept insisting he could stay to finish his day’s assignment.
Tiiran set him up apart from the others, but with orders to leave when he felt he was done. He suspected Niksa would waste the time feeling too poorly to do anything when he could have gone to his room to sleep, but didn’t feel like ordering him to go if this was where he wanted to be, snuffles or not.
He also didn’t feel like dealing with demanding scholars or really, anyone. He left the desk near the entrance unoccupied and temporarily took over one of the absent Master Keeper’s desks to compose responses. Mattin hadn’t advised him to be cautious even though Mattin was clearly anxious over the matter. It could bring trouble down on Tiiran, he had said, despite admitting that there was no one for the chastised Master Keepers to complain to except the king, who they were unlikely to approach. Fear of royal attention was what they were avoiding by staying away from the library, after all.
In the end, Mattin said he would sign the letters alongside Tiiran if Tiiran wanted him to, and chewed his bottom lip while perched on the window seat in Keeper—in former Keeper Aize’s office, and said nothing when Po had eventually come in to watch Tiiran write. Like Mattin, Po had a small furrow in her brow.
“Did Orin leave?” She was visibly bewildered when Mattin shook his head and Tiiran scoffed to himself over his papers.
Tiiran signed the last letter with a flourish and a cramping hand, then stood up. “Read them over if you like. But I won’t make you sign. I can always go back to sweeping floors. You can’t.” Mattin was noble and wouldn’t need to earn a living, but Tiiran didn’t bother to correct himself.
Mattin darted over to read each letter.
Po continued to frown at Tiiran. “Sweeping floors? What’s going on? Orin usually calms you down.”
Tiiran scoffed again. Po had better not suggest he go back up there.
He’d already tried, making it as far as the second level landing, and then fear of what he might overhear had sent him back downstairs to make absolutely sure Niksa was all right—and finally send Niksa to his rooms to sleep, a cup of tea in his hands. Orin and Nikoly might not have even been in the nook. For all Tiiran knew, they’d left while Tiiran had been banging around downstairs trying to find the good paper for letters to tell the Master Keepers to fuck off.
If Orin had put Nikoly over his knee, Tiiran would have been able to hear it, surely. Tiiran had heard plenty of vigorous tupping in his time. …And walked in on more, even after clearing his throat to announce himself. Lovers seemed to get caught up in sensation and not hear the slap of skin on skin. Or perhaps some did and wanted others to hear.
Nikoly was shameless, when it came down to it. Maybe that pleased Orin. So much less work than Tiiran, and for someone much prettier.
Tiiran reached up to rub at the ache behind his eyes.
“Tiiran?” Po pressed, trying to peer down at what Mattin was reading at the same time.
“It’s not your mess,” Tiiran informed her in a crackling voice, his heart beating too fast again when she flinched. He relented enough to say, “I’m not tolerating Master Keeper bullshit anymore. That’s all.”
