Orin and Nikoly had so many interests. Tiiran had the library. Well, he would run it as well as he could. No more wasting time expecting help that wouldn’t come.
They were probably finished by now anyway, whispering to each other whatever people whispered in their situation.
Meanwhile, Tiiran had other things to worry about, like Mattin toying anxiously with his hair and muttering about how the Arlylian were without scandal.
“You don’t need to,” Tiiran assured him again, and got a vexed, perhaps even annoyed, glance from Mattin, so Tiiran went silent.
When Mattin was finished reading, Tiiran began neatly folding each letter. As assistants, they had no seal to press into wax on their messages, but Mattin dug around to find wax so the letters at least looked official. Then he heaved a breath. “Now, to deliver them.”
“Tiiran,” Po was cautious, “are you sure you’re all right? Do you need—I was going to say a late lunch, but an early dinner? Where is Nikoly, anyway?”
“He’s not always with me.” Tiiran stacked the letters, then stuffed them under his arm, distantly surprised at how light they were. “And Orin doesn’t always calm me down.”
He’d told Orin they’d eat dinner together. He doubted that was happening now. In any case, Tiiran was busy.
“I’ll hand these to messengers myself.” Letters and packages going outside the palace were usually given to palace runners, if the letter writer didn’t have staff of their own to make deliveries for them. With no Head of House, runners had to be tracked down, and were often found near the kitchens or in the stables where gambling went on during slow hours.
“You’re leaving?” Po was frowning again. “With Orin still here?”
He rearranged the letters, trying under his other arm. “Nikoly’s with him. They’ll take care of each other.”
Tiiran must have layered his words without meaning to. Po was suddenly right in front of him, watching him with wounded eyes.
“Oh,bee. I know you aren’t like me and Amie. Maybe they thought you were and this is all a misunderstanding.”
Mattin made a strangled sound.
“I’m don’t want to talk about it.” People didn’t like it when Tiiran snapped and snarled, so they should be happy he wasn’t doing that now. Not stare at him as if they’d done something wrong. No one had. Except for Tiiran being foolish, but it wasn’t wrong to be a fool, only humiliating.
And painful. But he’d deal with that later.
“Maybe you should wait to do this, bee,” Po said next, trying to smooth his hair now. “At least eat first. Never make big decisions on an empty stomach.”
Mattin looked at her incredulously. “Then I’d never get anything done.”
Po swung a hand toward him without looking away from Tiiran, one finger raised. “We’ll get to you, daisy.” She didn’t force Tiiran to meet her stare, but she didn’t move away. “Will you talk to me later? If you need to? I’m sorry for not getting involved before.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Tiiran was firm. “It’s all perfectly obvious. Now, I need to go. Before they come back downstairs if they haven’t already,” he added, quieter, although Mattin likely heard it anyway.
“Oh, bee,” Po said again as Tiiran walked away, “it’s actually worse when you’re composed and proper about it.”
Tiiran succeeding in getting runners to deliver the messages within the capital, and one who would see the rest posted with the next boats going up or down river. Then he found himself standing by one of the palace gardens, unsure of where to go next.
The kitchens should have been his destination, though it was early to eat by his usual standards, which were probably much too late by the standards of sensible people. He could go to his room to finish some of his reading. There was nowhere else. Tiiran had no interests outside the library, and no friends, and no family anywhere, unless he counted whatever fae lurked around the garden behind him.
He stood indecisively in front of the entrance until the sun began to go down in earnest and several palace guards had taken the path past the garden only to circle back to regard Tiiran suspiciously.
Orin had instructed him to eat better, to rest more, to spend time in places outside the library. That game only continued if Tiiran wanted it to. Orin might still care, but it mattered that he would care about Nikoly in the same way. Itshouldn’tmatter, and wouldn’t have to Po or Amie or others like them; Po had been right about that. But itdidmatter, if only to Tiiran, although Orin’s other ducklings didn’t bother him nearly as much as the idea of Orin withNikoly.
The other ducklings were far away, and Orin had claimed Tiiran was different. That might be all it was, Tiiran hoping to be special to Orin, to Nikoly.
Hehadhoped to be special, but didn’t need fae giggling at him from wherever they hid.
“You can fuck off,” he shouted to the garden walls, startling and then angering one guard. Tiiran dashed beyond the walls, hoping the guard wouldn’t follow and smug when he didn’t—although it was likely Tiiran’s wild hair and small stature that had convinced him not to, and not Tiiran himself. That, and Tiiran heading into a garden where an altar for fae offerings meant the fae might be near.
That was the only interesting thing about Tiiran: fae blood. Eyes that went black, hair of too many colors, no height to speak of. Then he had gone and wished, deep down in his heart he had carried dreams despite knowing better. Dreams that he was special to Orin, and special to Nikoly, andthatwas what hurt. He could have accepted Orin’s others or Nikoly’s visits to the capital.
He could have, he thought forcefully, glaring into the darkening paths of the garden. Tiiran had never had anything of his own and he certainly hadn’t expected to have either of them solely to himself. But he’dwanted. He’d wanted something so stupidly impossible that he hadn’t even let himself admit that he wanted it. He’d wished to beloved, and by two people so remarkable that of course they’d been drawn to each other.
