Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
The weather had miraculously cleared in time for their trip.
It had been muggy and overcast the whole week leading up to the day, and Eric had packed in anticipation of rain and mud and being miserable the whole time.
Then he’d taken one look at the sunlight streaming in and repacked with more optimistic clothing.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” asked Ix, poking his head in through the door.
He’d been experimenting with the look of his new horns over the last few months and had finally seemed to settle on a pair that curled over his temples most of the time.
Occasionally, he still forgot about them, like now, and clipped the edge of the doorway with them.
“Yes, yes, almost there,” said Eric, squeezing one last waistcoat in before waving the servants ahead to take his trunk out.
Almost six months after his father’s execution, he was beyond ready to shed the all black and gray clothing, just in time for spring to blossom into summer.
What Eric hadn’t realized was that Ix had been thinking much the same; he’d simply had a full season’s worth of new clothing in the colors that suited Eric best – greens, blues, rich browns that complimented his red hair – delivered into Eric’s wardrobe without consulting him.
“You could have brought all of it,” said Ix, looking at the discarded clothes all over the bed with some amusement.
“Could I? And where would I have put it?” asked Eric, looking pointedly at Ix’s four chests already strapped to the carriage as they emerged into the morning air.
He felt like a flower, unfurling into the sunshine.
Too bad they were about to sit inside for the next few hours. “Oh hells, wait, I forgot my armband.”
Eric’s sole remaining item of mourning, his black armband, was... somewhere in their room. Hidden under the piles of clothing, possibly. He didn’t wear it when it was just the two of them, since Ix cared not for performative displays of mourning a man Eric barely thought of.
Ix stopped him as Eric made to head back inside. “Why bother? No one cares.”
Eric hesitated. A part of him felt uneasy.
People would talk, surely. He swallowed down the unease in his stomach and heaved himself into the carriage before he could change his mind.
It was silly how his heart pounded at such a small act of defiance.
Ix closed the door behind him, then looked at Eric quizzically as he settled himself.
Eric shook his head, not knowing how to explain, but Ix reached out, cupping his hand around the back of Eric’s neck and squeezing.
The weight of it grounded him, made him remember to breathe, and the scratch of sharp nails against his skin brought him back to the present.
“Thank you.” Eric leaned his head against Ix’s shoulder as the carriage set off, trundling down the palace paths.
He was not yet comfortable letting himself accept physical affection in the way of a lover rather than a jovial slap on the back, but then Ix still acted like an offended cat every time Eric attempted a sincere compliment, so they were a good match.
The journey to the country house wasn’t the most efficient route possible.
If they’d been just riding their horses, it would have been faster, but between Ix’s considerable luggage and all the detours they were making to pick up people along the way, the trip would take the better part of a day.
The closest house was Marty’s, where Todd and Gareth traveled along in his carriage, then Imogen and Katherine in hers, and they had agreed that Aunt Geraldine could ride with them.
The oddest part was when Gareth asked if Damian would be riding with them, and everyone had looked slightly confused, as if trying to remember where Damian had gone.
He still came up in everyone’s memories at some point, and people spoke fondly of him.
Although Lymond hadn’t come back to one of Ix’s parties since switching his allegiance to Jasper, he’d come to speak with Ix privately a few times.
Ix confided that he might return at some point, but that a solid corporeal form of Damian of Lymond cost a huge amount of magic to sustain for more than an hour or so.
Eric had asked Ix, a few weeks ago, why he didn’t clear everyone’s memory of Damian as he had done with Eric.
“The fewer people who know I’m aware of a rogue demon’s existence without reporting him to the Magisterium, the better.”
“Oh. Yes, that’s obvious now you say it. So, just me to go down with your ship if this all goes badly then?” Eric had asked, bemused.
And so it remained a secret between the two of them.
And Archie, he supposed. Which meant that now, Eric had to pretend that everything was fine with his friends even when Damian stopped reinforcing his memory magic and their perceptions of him started to unravel under the weight of some logical thinking. He hoped Damian would come back soon.
Eric nodded off against the warmth of Ix’s shoulder at some point, jolting awake as the carriage ground to a halt. Only Ix’s arm draped around his waist stopped him from sliding off the seat. “Mnrgh. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, we’re stopping for lunch.” Ix ruffled his hair.
Eric groaned in disgust, suddenly fully awake.
He pulled away before Ix could completely unset his hair and crumpled the flattened side back into shape.
Ix’s preoccupation with his curls was absurd, matched only by Eric’s fixation with Ix’s long hair, so neither of them were able to say anything about it.
Ix was standing at the doorway of the carriage with his hand outstretched, as if Eric were a lady to help down.
“Stop that,” said Eric as a surge of deep affection overtook him, and felt the smile in his voice. Gods. Disgusting.
“It’s a steep step.” Ix didn’t move, but he did deign to smirk.
“It’s a steep – it’s the same carriage you’ve had for the last five years,” said Eric incredulously. There was nothing for it. He put his hand in Ix’s and let himself be helped down the step.
It was quite nice actually. Not that he would say so to Ix.
“Gods, lovely day to be traveling,” said Marty, walking over from one carriage down. If he noticed them holding hands, he didn’t mention it. Eric had noticed that none of the other lads had suggested riding with the two of them. “I hope the food is good.”
“It usually is,” Eric reassured him, squeezing Ix’s hand before letting go.
This inn, The Speckled Eagle, held some nostalgia, not that he had been here in years.
Nestled just inside the border of Marrawshire, it was the same one he’d stopped at any time he traveled to the country estate, and not much had changed over the years.
It was one of several inns along this stretch of the road, ideally placed for travelers halfway between the port and the city.
This one was a sprawling building, well maintained and clean, though the occasional chicken from opposite wandered across.
The rustic thatched roof sloped low enough that as they gathered around the entrance, Ix had to duck his head to get inside.
“Your Highness! We’re honored to have you here,” said Martha, the cheerful woman who owned the place with her husband.
Her hair held more gray now than Eric remembered, and the lines around her eyes that crinkled with her smile had multiplied, but she was the same otherwise.
She dipped a low curtsy to Ixthan, then to Eric.
A moment of hesitation. “My condolences about your father, milord.”
Eric murmured his thanks with surprise. In hindsight, Martha had probably seen his father every few months whenever he traveled back to the house, which was more often than Eric had.
Thankfully, Martha moved briskly on: “We did have the private room ready for you seeing how the common room is packed, but given the weather today you wouldn’t want to sit outside, would you?”
“Yes! Let’s enjoy the sunshine while we can,” enthused Imogen.
They weren’t the only ones with the same idea.
Several groups were set up, and not all the kind of customers that Eric would have expected.
The Speckled Eagle usually hosted nobles and merchants with enough coin to spend on a cut above; the other side of the road was The Rusty Knight for the more common traders and further down the road and around a bend was The Demon and The Lady, which was much more lively and where the servants and soldiers tended to stay.
“Has trade picked up a lot, or is it unusually busy right now?” asked Eric when Martha and her son came back out with a veritable platter of food.
“Oh, it’s for the fair in Marrawton, I’ve seen lots of folk coming through from all different counties,” said Martha. “It’s looking to shape up to be a lively one, I’m sure you’re pleased about that, milord.”
“I – yes, of course,” said Eric, caught out. “Yes. Lively is good.”
“‘Lively is good’?” repeated Ix once Martha had left.
“I wasn’t going to tell her I had no idea what she was on about, was I?” hissed Eric, hiding his flush by concentrating very hard on doling out roast potatoes onto Ix’s plate and then his own plate.
“Oh good, I was about to lambaste you for not telling us about a fair,” said Katherine. “That’ll be right on your doorstep, won’t it? We should take a look around.”
“Yes, the estate is at the edge of the town. We’ll ask Petra if she feels up for it,” said Eric, examining the other groups with interest now he knew what they were here for.
After lunch, they had quite a bit of company on the road toward Marrawton.
They started seeing a few signs after a while, staked into the ground and telling people of a new fair on Marrawton Green.
Try as he might, Eric couldn’t remember where Marrawton Green was but they’d find it if they followed everyone else at this point.