A childish sort of thought, but Tiiranhadonly been about fifteen years old at the time. A gawking, blushing, low-to-the-ground, not-even-an-assistant-yet, with wild hair and ink on his fingers. All that had changed since then was that Tiiran had longer hair and the fact that Orin talked to him. And that was probably only because, after Tye, the number of assistants and Keepers had dwindled, and it was usually Tiiran who was last in the library and therefore the one to gently, or not gently, kick Orin out.
Orin hadn’t seemed to mind Tiiran’s muck-spout mouth that first time, smiling and accepting his scolding and Tiiran’s embarrassed apology with the same light in his dark brown eyes before politely taking his leave.
If, alone in his room afterward, Tiiran had thought about the moment where Orin had put down his book and risen from his chair to briefly loom over him, that was neither here nor there. If Tiiran would think about this moment in the same way, well, no one was to know.
Orin placed the book with the others before sitting back down. He swept a look over Tiiran from his worn boots and patched robe to his spiky twist of hair, and Tiiran had no doubt he saw everything there was to see, and yet he still stared as though he could keep staring for hours.
When Tiiran shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced away as if it would hide his red face and the slow burn within his chest, Orin moved his gaze to the wall behind Tiiran. He smiled but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Did I upset you?”
“With what?” Tiiran shook his head. “You’re not the only one to comment on my eating habits.”
“Lackof eating habits.” Orin didn’t grumble it or mutter. But his smile did gain some warmth. “Sit and eat then. Must I invite you every time?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted tea,” Tiiran answered smartly as he slipped into the nook and sat in the last remaining chair, on the opposite side of the table from Orin. “But afterthat, I won’t.”
He considered it anyway, unsure if the dimming lamplight was giving Orin shadows beneath his eyes or if he imagined them.
“I’d never create more work for you. You have enough as it is.” Orin’s attention lingered on the plate when Tiiran set it down, but when Tiiran took an orange slice and ate it, Orin eased back in his too-small chair. “And you will scold and say it all needs to be done and that you don’t mind, butImind, and it seems I’m not the only one.”
Tiiran had no reply to that except to finally swallow the orange slice still in his mouth. Orin looked right at him, knowing and sad and pleased. None of which made any sense considering they were just talking about oranges.
“I’m not a Master Keeper,” Tiiran answered at last. “I can’t order someone to bring me meals. I hated it when most of them did that anyway, since too many of them weren’t even working at the time, lazy shit-sacks.”
Orin gestured to his little stack of books. “And your reading to become a Master Keeper? Have you had time to do that?”
Tiiran slouched down and narrowed his eyes. “Fuck off.”
It got him a quirk of Orin’s lips. “That wasn’t much of a snarl, kitten. Youaretired.”
“So are you.” Tiiran wasn’t even as smug as he should have been when Orin frowned before nodding to concede the point. “Did whatever noble house you had to visit not welcome you as they ought to have done?”
“My current duties do not involve any auditing or traveling great distances. And you’re changing the subject once again. Don’t think I don’t notice.”
“That answer explains exactly nothing,” Tiiran said snippily, reaching for another slice. “Then why are you so weary? Oh,” he realized aloud as he asked, “have you been having fun in the capital too?”
Orin’s eyebrows went up. “Too?” he echoed, and inched forward to study Tiiran in a way that Tiiran didn’t like. Talking with Orin wasn’t supposed to do anything but make Tiiran happy and so on edge he’d have to take care of himself later. The strange state of being content-yet-excited was supposed to last until Orin left, and then Tiiran would remember his confusion, and the anxious, noisy heat under his skin would return.
He rubbed his cheek with his palm, annoyed by the scent of crushed orange in his nose.
“Kitten,” Orin began slowly, his voice especially smoky, “have you been discovering the pleasures of the city at last? Having a night out as so many others your age do?”
“I… no. That is,” Tiiran took a deep breath, “it has been mentioned. But,” he fidgeted with the plate before looking to Orin again, “I don’t think I’d like it even if I had the time. I mean, what would I even do there, Orin?” That was soft, but immediately followed by a snarl. “Don’t you laugh at me!”
Orin didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look as if he wanted to. “I never would. Not for that. Hackles down, please.” Tiiran made a face he suspected was mulish, but settled, and then sighed when Orin added, “Thank you,” as if Tiiran needed a reward for behaving.
Tiiran ignored the sting in his cheeks. “It’sridiculousto not know. I even worked in a tavern when I was younger! It’s where Lanth….” He stopped, then continued on. “Where Lanth found me when she was meeting one of her lovers. But I don’t see the point in it when I have things to get done and people….” He gestured vaguely at himself. “People don’t like me. Not many people.”
“Only the right people,” Orin said immediately, his voice like a blanket around Tiiran.
Tiiran ducked his head.
“You’re soft for saying it,” he murmured, not able to look back up yet. “Want some of my orange slices? Anyway, why do you always say ‘my age’ like you’re a grandfather huddled around the hearth to keep his bones from aching?” Orin couldn’t be more than four and thirty. Tiiran jerked his head up to peer at Orin more closely and wonder why his expression was so…open. Orin looked confused and sort of fond. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? Uninjured?” Injuries could make people feel more aged. So could illness.
“As always, your concern is both touching and slightly painful.”
Why that comment, spoken plainly, should mean Tiiran couldn’t meet Orin’s gaze again was a mystery to explore when Tiiran was alone. Or never.
“Though I’d like to see what sort of nursemaid you’d be,” Orin added a moment later.Nowhe teased, his tone almost demanding that Tiiran look at him and growl.
