Part One #7
“It does.” Westin had to agree on that whether he liked it or not. “But that’s its purpose. Or at least, to offer rest and some peace.”
Sun’s scoff was barely audible. “‘Peace’ again.”
“You don’t want that? Even for a while?” Westin truly didn’t understand, or believe, that. Not with his memories full of Sun clingy and sweet after a tup, a wild creature turned tame, content to be fed and petted and to sleep in someone’s arms.
“That’s what you want,” Sun muttered, not quite under his breath. “Of course it is.”
He pushed himself out of his chair without another word and went over to the bar, where the bartender seemed happy to see him again.
Westin absently rubbed his wrist though that wouldn’t soothe the ache the rain had brought.
Sun and the worker at the bar appeared to be discussing wines, not food, which Westin tried not to be vexed about, while also ignoring his own stomach’s needs.
Wines were poured, evidently for Sun to taste.
Westin wondered if he or Sun was going to pay for that wine and suspected neither of them would.
Sun and the bartender were enjoying themselves.
Tasting wines from across the country in a warmly lit room while it stormed outside was peace to some. Westin shouldn’t be jealous of that.
He shouldn’t be jealous. He wasn’t the kind. Though he hadn’t avoided romance, he hadn’t expected the lifelong love of his parents, and neither was he the sort to demand a one-and-only. He never had been.
Too generous, he imagined Sun sneering, as though not demanding love or a single lover was a failure and not something perfectly normal.
Just because Westin didn’t demand something didn’t mean he couldn’t accept it.
Or so he argued with the Sun in his head.
But the fact of the matter was, Westin wasn’t territorial.
At least, he never had been. There was no point in such feelings. Some might even have said such feelings were dangerous. People like that started fights or wars, and often lost them. Ambitions, even for a single, devoted lover, were simply not something Westin had.
The Sun in his head bared his teeth before laughing at him, perhaps because Westin was watching Sun flirt while gifts from other lovers or friends twinkled at his ears, and Westin did not like it.
It was knowing this was all over, Westin told himself, as if that would cool the fire burning low inside him.
He was upset because now Sun’s flirting mattered more since it wouldn’t be followed by time with Sun in the future.
That was all. Westin hadn’t actually believed Sun was here for him, although he and Sun had agreed to meet at the barracks in a few days.
A visit before winter, when traveling was more difficult and even Sun wasn’t going to want to track down Westin wherever he was and keep him company.
A small, hateful part of Westin wondered if that was why the winters seemed to have grown longer and harder for him in recent years.
The larger, sensible part of Westin knew it was why Westin had stopped here instead of hurrying on to meet Sun a day sooner; he was going to have to tell Sun that he was leaving, and while Sun would be upset, he wouldn’t be nearly as upset as Westin was at the thought of never, or hardly ever, seeing him again.
Westin was far too old to be this stupid about his own feelings.
Too generous, he imagined Sun and Hely telling him. Hely would likely add something about how conversation was important, and Westin ought to have more of them, instead of merely listening as others talked.
A glass goblet full of red wine appeared before him.
Sun set it on the table in front of Westin when Westin didn’t take it, then sat in the same chair he’d used before, but seated sideways so they weren’t facing each other.
“Min behind the bar swears that this should be to your tastes, although he also said you usually only get tea. I’ve seen you have wine elsewhere, which I told him, so he chose that one for you.
I also ordered more tea for you since you gave me yours.
But not that blend.” He wrinkled his nose. “That was awful.”
“It’s good when you have it at just the right moment,” Westin heard himself explaining, then abandoned his point to lean over and sniff his wine. “Spicy, not sweet,” he murmured appreciatively, knowing Sun preferred sweet wines. “Thank you.”
“I can be mannerly.” Sun huffed. “Even if I’m no Hely.”
Westin paused before he could raise the glass. “Why should you be Hely?”
Sun gave a snort. “Why indeed?”
Westin pushed the wine toward him, nudging the tray of old tea out of the way first. Sun gave him a look, but picked up the wine to take a swallow. He grimaced, but had another sip before he pushed it back.
Westin had a taste as well then, the rim of the glass warm from Sun’s mouth although he wasn’t thinking about it. They’d kept this wine in oak and he sighed appreciatively for Sun to hear.
“It’s a good choice for me. Thank you again. But I get the sense that something is bothering you, brat.”
He used the nickname gently but purposefully, and wasn’t surprised when it made Sun turn to look at him. He also expected Sun to respond with a snippy retort, but if Sun had one, he kept it to himself.
“They pay people to listen here, don’t they?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you?” Sun watched Westin hesitate and narrowed his eyes. But instead of a snarled or snappish opinion about that, Sun stayed serious. “Yet you’re asking about me?”
Westin cocked his head to the side and frowned a little, trying to understand the heat beneath the question.
Most of the chats Westin had with other outguards involved him listening.
He was quiet, and people assumed that quiet equaled wise.
Or perhaps they didn’t think about it that much, or quiet was all they needed.
But outguards spent their time investigating misdeeds or alleged misdeeds, or spying on nobles committing misdeeds.
That meant they had burdens, and Westin didn’t mind helping others carry theirs.
“You’re my friend,” he finally answered. “I can listen.”
Sun’s brows came together over his wounded eyes. “So can I.”
Westin shook his head. “Of course you can. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t.”
“Stop being nice.” Sun worked his jaw. “This is a place to find peace or comfort, right? So which did you come here for?”
As he asked, his gaze left Westin to track something cross the room. Westin turned to see Hely paused in some errand to chat with someone at another table.
“You came here searching for peace,” Sun announced, certain.
Westin exhaled heavily. “I am here because I had to make a decision. No, that’s not true. I’m here because I made a decision, but I wasn’t happy about it. And perhaps because I wanted to delay my arrival to the capital.”
Sun pulled his attention from Hely to study Westin, his spine rigid and his hands pressed hard to the tabletop.
“So it’s true?” he demanded. The heat was no longer under his words but a part of them.
Westin put out a hand to calm him without even knowing why he was upset. “What is?”
Sun took a shaky breath. “Weapons Master Chaus said you’ve been considering leaving the Outguard at last.”
Westin felt like a small, old fool at the hurt and fury in Sun’s eyes.
He swallowed, but in the end had to speak around the tension locking his throat. “I’m old for a guard, Sun. Winters are getting harder. Most leave by my age, or are thinking about it. You’re young, but you’ll see one day.”
“You’re leaving.” Sun’s tone was flat but his eyes said enough. “To do what? Oh.” He glanced around without focusing on any one thing. “To work here?”
Westin nearly choked. “What?”
“As a listener or whatever you might call yourself? Hely agreed you’d be good at it.” Sun found Hely again across the room, then cut off a snarl and turned his head away. “At least it’s warm in here. You’d never have to worry about that again.”
Sun could not be serious.
“I suppose I could work here.” Westin put some humor into his voice so that Sun would turn back to him. “Listening, hmm? Do you think that would be enough to live on? No one would pay me for anything else.”
“Fuck you.” Sun’s voice shook despite the venom.
“You’re joking about it. You’re actually joking.
You weren’t even going to stay at the barracks and teach?
You were just going to leave? You were going to come in, probably say not a single fae-blessed word about this, and never be seen again? Just like that?”
“No.” Westin raised his voice. “No, I wouldn’t have. And it was never ‘just like that.’ Do you think this is easy?”
Sun reared back then tossed his head. “Were you going to speak to me about it if I hadn’t found you here? You were going to vanish, weren’t you? You weren’t even going to tell me.”
“Sun.” Westin reached across the table but Sun snatched his hand away. “Sun, I would have told you.”
Sun crossed his arms. “You don’t have to pretend I was on your mind. You don’t need to be nice with me.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “Fuck.”
Westin raised his voice again and made it firm enough to smack sense into an angry brat. “I would have told you.” Each word was clear, even if Westin’s throat hurt with everything he hadn’t said. “It’s part of why I waited this long. I didn’t want to say…”
“I suppose you’ll get married next,” Sun interrupted, gaze suddenly very sharp.
“What?” Westin wasn’t used to arguing, which might have been why he was so lost. “I’m getting married?” He gestured to the air around him. “Wouldn’t I have been with such a person as I worried over this? Wouldn’t they be with me now?”
“Friends can share burdens too,” Sun insisted stubbornly.