“May I?” he asked, but put his arm around Tiiran’s waist and took Tiiran’s weight without waiting for a reply. “Which office?”
Tiiran couldn’t smell him, no soaps or teas or special oils to make his hair always look wonderful. But he could feel Nikoly’s warmth and his care, and it made Tiiran’s eyes sting again.
“I’m sorry,” he managed through his sniffling.
“Which office, honeybee?” Nikoly repeated, gentler, leaning in almost as if he were Orin and wanted to nuzzle Tiiran’s hair.
Tiiran waved him vaguely ahead, in no condition to argue or question anything. At least not until he’d rested.
“Iamfine,” he insisted in his awful croak the moment Nikoly settled him into the overly large chair in the office that had last been used when Tiiran had composed the letters that might lead to him being back in the street. Where he belonged, some might have said.
Nikoly eyed Tiiran’s robe as he straightened up, but turned away without remarking on the state it was in. He went to the window first, opening the curtains to let what sun there was shine in. It was a decent-sized office, now that Tiiran was really noticing it. From the early days when there had been fewer Master Keepers. That, or someone important must have had it before Aize. It had a fireplace and a large window with a seat, plus a desk, a chair for the desk, and another chair and table by the fireplace. The fireplace was cold and dark, with no logs stacked next to it because no Keeper had been here to demand any.
Nikoly clucked his tongue. “I’ll bring something for the fire and then your copying work for you. And a real breakfast.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” Tiiran scratched out the words, weakening his case almost certainly.
Nikoly flashed a smile. “It’s my honor.” He pulled a handkerchief from his robe and dropped it to the desk in front of Tiiran as he went out.
As if that had summoned them, Tiiran had a fit of sneezes before he could argue. It was probably the layers of dust stirred up by Nikoly moving around. He used the handkerchief whileIt’s my honorlingered in the air. Orin had said that to Nikoly, unless Tiiran had misheard him.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Tiiran glared at swirling dust motes in the light. “Is this what he was like yesterday?” he asked himself quietly a moment later. He could see why Po hadn’t bothered trying to fend him off today. Nikoly probably could have picked Po up and set her aside anyway. He was alarmingly strong for someone who sat and wrote lines in books all day.
Tiiran was trying to rub both the thought and the achy fog behind his eyes away when Nikoly returned. He went to the fireplace first, and once he had a fire going, put a basket filled with a copybook, quills, and an inkpot on the desk.
His stern expression made Tiiran close his mouth.
“I’ll bring tea and food shortly. Rest, Tiiran. If I find you’ve moved, I’ll tell Orin.”
He was out of the room before Tiiran had a chance to croak out afuck off.
Mattin brought the food and tea, as well as a cup of tea for himself, and curled up on the window seat, out of range of any sneezes, to read through a history. He paused every so often to make notations in pencil in a notebook he’d bound himself—Master Keeper work.
Tiiran, who could barely focus on the tiny words in the book in front of him but refused to give in and admit that because Po would be smug and Nikoly might appear out of nowhere to be smug next to her, watched Mattin for a while.
“Doesn’t it bother you having all those things in your hair?” he heard himself asking, rasp and all.
Mattin looked up, large eyes sparkling over whatever history lesson he’d been reading. “When I forget to take them out at night.” He twisted his lips and glanced toward the door. “They help me feel attractive. I know I’m not,” he added, with a shrug that seemed embarrassed.
Tiiran would have goggled at him, but his stinging eyes couldn’t take it. “The other day, I thought you and Orin might have met in the stacks. To fuck,” he added because sometimes Mattin grasped things quickly and sometimes he missed even more than Tiiran did. “Because you’re smart and pretty. That’s what Orin likes.”
“Orin?” Mattin’s gaze briefly went distant while he bit his lip and turned pink. He finally hummed. “Well, if he asked. Do you think he would ask?” He shook his head before the question was even fully out. “But I never thought of it, even if he had talked to me like he talks to you. I’ve always liked how he speaks with you, and how he looks at you, like he only has eyes for….” Mattin closed his mouth and cleared his throat, clearly remembering what Tiiran and Po had talked about the other day. “Um.”
“It’s fine.” Tiiran returned to squinting at ancient handwriting, his hands clenched in his lap because his fingers were cold, no other reason. “Nikoly is smart and pretty too, so I wasn’t wrong there at least.” He coughed dryly to make sure his voice was smooth. “This room is dusty.”
“All the abandoned offices are. No one has time to clean them,” Mattin returned absently, about to fall into his book again.
Tiiran glanced over to the window as much as he could with the sunlight making his eyes sting. “If the Keepers don’t answer, or if they all answer how I think they will, these rooms will stay empty. Seems a waste.”
“Hmm,” Mattin agreed.
Tiiran unfurled one hand to rub his forehead. “Do you like this one?”
“Hmm,” Mattin said again, then jerked his head up to stare at Tiiran as if flabbergasted. Then he closed his mouth and grew serious. “This is not the office of a new Master Keeper.” He spoke very, very quietly, cautious as Tiiran was not.
“There’s the tiny one you used before,” Tiiran immediately suggested. “It’s been emptiest the longest, and that Keeper is definitely not coming back.”
Mattin fussed with his robe, then his hair. “Youshould have a place to work, a regular place.”
