Chapter Fifteen Rock, Paper, Scissors #2
Perhaps. Ilondrel was farther than shouting distance, but not farther than the island that held the casket with the man inside, lying eerily, perfectly at rest. Every lock of his walnut-wood hair lay in careful waves spread over an ivory pillow, his shimmering silken robes draped as if someone had adjusted a fold, stood back to judge the effect, and then leaned in to gently tweak it.
A beautiful man with his hands at his breast, the haft of a spear tucked into the crook of his elbow, a finely etched shield covering his knees. The man Kell was certain Ilondrel loved, and mourned even after he’d been laid to rest, looking as if he were only sleeping.
Helfyra…was not nearby.
He stretched his senses, but they didn’t resolve in a direction, only a distance—but how far, he couldn’t say.
A distance. What kind of a measure was that?
He thought of Verandil, letting the hot water hold him as he let his head float on the water.
It was the same thing. Distant, but no real feeling of direction. Verandil was probably in the Village That Chooses Its Own, and Kell couldn’t point in his direction any more than he could for Helfyra.
He focused on her again. Stately, elegant, simply dressed, rabbit pendant.
Liked to cast tiny star illusions on things, like Timtim’s spiraling horn.
Ditched him with Saeldian in this tiny cottage with only one bed.
That same feeling of distance met his senses, though much more faintly than Verandil’s.
Wherever she was, she wasn’t here, in Hearthaven’s Repose. She’d left the domain. But that meant she left as soon as she’d dumped Saeldian and Kell in the lovers’ cottage. Why?
The sense of Helfyra shrank suddenly, and Kell felt like he was squinting at a faint star just before it vanished.
Vanished?
The steam rising from the bathtub didn’t curl into an answer. He’d never tested the trick, but he knew from trying that no amount of sitting, remembering, or searching would let him know where Verandil was—or Terandis either—before he’d crossed into the Feywild.
Kell sat up in a slosh of bathwater and tried to turn around to stare at something directly behind him.
Who was that?
The others he had seen on the island would hardly even be smudges. He hadn’t talked to them or heard their voices. But that presence was too strong to be a smudge, if only a little, and that didn’t make sense.
Someone Kell had met before was here, and he had no idea who it was. No one from the village. Not Helfyra, who was in that directionless place that meant she wasn’t in the domain.
So who was that? Someone he had spoken to, someone whose name he knew.
Not Jubilee. He’d known her long enough for her to give a stronger impression, and besides, she was still over there, talking to Lorzok.
Not Ilondrel, who had so much power that he felt like he already knew her.
She had the same incredible presence he had felt emanating from the Brewmistress and from Osalor, the power that came from being anchored in a realm that existed because of you.
Kell had started knowing Ilondrel from the moment he’d stepped into her realm.
She’d spoken only a few words to him directly, but he could point in her direction much more confidently than he should be able to. That could be because of her dominion over this realm or the intensity of the ceremony of telling her why they had come here.
So who was the presence he sensed was resting across the lake?
It didn’t matter. Kell couldn’t get out of the bath, sail across the lake, and knock on doors in search of an acquaintance who shouldn’t be here. And he knew what he was doing, chasing after all these little mysteries.
Saeldian stood exactly beside the nearest wall. If the wall hadn’t been there, he could have touched them. They were so close he could sense them moving.
He settled back into the hot water and exhaled. He had just a little time to relax before he had to go back to the armed politeness he needed to deal with Saeldian. But they were right there, and Kell couldn’t stop knowing they were right there, moving…to keep warm?
He stayed still, felt the awareness of Saeldian moving, and understood—they were rocking from one foot to the other at the speed best for soothing children.
Kell couldn’t feel what people were feeling. He only knew where they were.
“Fuck.”
He stood up and grabbed a linen towel from the hook. He draped a felted wool robe around his shoulders and made sure the door closed loud enough to hear before he went around to the back of the cottage, the cold air swirling around his wet ankles.
Saeldian had enough time to stand in that upright, aloof way before Kell made it around the corner. Kell ignored it. He grabbed Saeldian’s wrist and pulled them close enough to catch in his arms.
“What are you—”
“Cry, you ass.”
They struggled. “No. I’m selfish.”
“I know. Now cry.”
Saeldian trembled and tensed, and their breath came in awful, tattered gasps. “No.”
“You’re selfish,” Kell said. “People accuse others of that because they feel betrayed by what they expect other people to do. Sometimes that’s true. Sometimes people’s expectations are unfair.”
Saeldian listened between frayed breaths.
“But when people say they’re selfish, it’s either because they don’t care, and it doesn’t hurt them…or they do care, and it does. Why do you care, Saeldian?”
“You’re wrong.”
“Sure,” Kell said. “You were just looking at the stars after you managed to lie to an archfey. Stop it. She asked us what hurts us, Saeldian. We all told the truth. And so did you. I didn’t understand that at first.”
“Well, you get it. Congratulations.”
It was freezing out here. Saeldian was so cold. They’d been shivering out here the whole time Kell had lounged in the bath doing his best to ignore them.
“Drop it. You’re out here fighting tears like you’ll die if you let them fall, and that’s not true. So let’s hear the truth. What hurts you the most? What do you fear most in the world?”
“Stop.”
“No,” Kell said. “What do you fear most in the world? I know already, so just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll tell you.”
They were stiff, but they didn’t pull away or fight, and Saeldian was better at close-quarters combat than he was. If they really wanted to get loose, Kell would be on the ground.
He relaxed his hold.
Saeldian didn’t move.
All right, then. They couldn’t tell Kell. But Kell could guess. “You’re the other side of my coin. You always have been.”
A drop of water from Kell’s wet hair landed on his neck, cold enough that he felt it roll all the way down to the collar of his robe.
“I’m always afraid that the people I care about most will leave me, or something will take me away.
You’re always afraid that you will leave someone, or something will take you away. ”
Saeldian gasped and went still.
“Every friend you make, every partner, everyone who claims you as theirs, something will take you away.”
They shook. “No. It’s because I’m selfish.”
“You never had a lover. You could seduce anyone if the game asked it, but you never courted anyone. You could charm anyone, but you never made a friend. Besides me. And then the day came that something took you away.”
Saeldian let their head fall on Kell’s shoulder with a thump and raised it again just as quickly.
“And it’s happened again,” Kell said. “Something has happened that will take you away from Jubilee. Everyone in your life who looked at you and saw a friend, a part of their family, a beloved who let you into their hearts—you have to leave them when they get into yours. And when this job is done, you’ll be gone. ”
Saeldian’s breath hitched. Their fingers squeezed tight on Kell’s shoulder, but Saeldian waited, listened.
“You can never accept what they give you, because you can never give it back.”
Saeldian fell into him, sobbing. They pounded his shoulder blade with one fist and wailed. Kell scooped them up and carried them back into the warm cabin and let them cry in his arms, and he rocked them the way they had rocked themself alone.
This was why Saeldian left him in Baldur’s Gate.
This was why they left everything to him.
They couldn’t give him anything else once something had taken them away.
Kell stroked Saeldian’s hair and hummed a bit, letting the sound rumble in his chest until the storm of tears passed, their hitching breaths evened, and they didn’t let go.
Osalor had never held them like this. Kell knew it down to the sinews.
What if no one had? Saeldian had one eye on the exits and the other on whoever was most likely to make trouble, and they always knew when tempers would boil before anyone else caught a hint.
How would anyone who always needed an exit accept anything that felt like a trap?
Sap popped in the hearth behind Kell. Their rocking had slowed to a gentle sway. Kell ran his hand over Saeldian’s silky curls and pressed his lips to their temple and didn’t realize until Saeldian went still.
Still, but not stiff. Kell kept his lips where they were and kept from tensing up or going too still. Saeldian would spook like a fawn either way.
Slowly, Saeldian tilted their head without pulling away. Their chin dragged across his collarbone, their nose pressed up against his throat. When Saeldian’s lips actually glided up his throat, he still lifted his chin to give them more room.
Saeldian tilted his head back down and kissed his mouth.
Kell knew he should wonder why, but instead he pulled them close, kissing back.