5
Dorian woke up feeling better than he had in days. Still not what he would call well, but definitely better. Certainly better than he had the night before, when the fever took hold.
Even the thought of it brought bile to his throat again.
Brought the fear that had been in him even longer than the fear of the mages.
The fear of the enemy that now slept in the same bed with him.
But that thought didn’t bring fear any longer, if it ever really had with Hadrian.
It brought memories of a beautiful face framed by blonde curls, gentle hands, and a voice that soothed even his deepest fears.
Hadrian had seen him at his worst, at his most vulnerable, and only sought to comfort—to heal.
How could he fear that? How was that the enemy? Why did his people fight this war? Had they really lied? Had the mages changed over the years? If Hadrian had been there when his parents—
That brought back too many memories. Too many fears Dorian didn’t want to relive. He shifted, hoping to wake Hadrian. Hoping he would start talking again. But when he turned his head, the bed was empty except for him.
A new fear took root in his chest. What if the mage had left?
Dorian didn’t feel well, but he was better.
He could probably recover on his own now with time.
Maybe Hadrian had figured he’d done enough.
Maybe he’d seen Dorian last night and decided it wasn’t worth staying to care for him longer.
He’d be better off leaving Dorian behind. He was an outcast now. Dead weight.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
Hadrian walked in from a small doorway at the back of the room, smiling, and Dorian was sure he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Weak, filtered sunlight made his curls glow around his face. He had different clothes on. A thin white shirt and linen breeches that hugged his long legs.
“I thought you might like a bath,” Hadrian said. “Then I’ll fix something to eat. There’s some leftover broth there on the table, but it didn’t do a thing for me.”
“A bath?” Dorian’s mind didn’t seem to want to wake up with the rest of him. He sat up in bed with a groan.
“Yes,” Hadrian said. “A bath. With soap and everything. I have some. And I have some clean clothes. I keep a lot in my pack because my job is, you know, kind of gross sometimes. They might not be the best fit, but it would still be good for you to be in something clean. Also, I want to change the bedding. I doubt we’ll have any more problems with…
sickness. But it wouldn’t hurt to sleep on something less dusty.
I found some new sheets that had been packed away and I think I managed to air them out pretty well. ”
Dorian stood up. His limbs felt weak, but it felt good to be up. He stretched—testing his back and side casually. “Where would I take a bath?”
“Oh, right through here.”
Hadrian disappeared again through the doorway, and Dorian followed him slowly. Just beyond was a tiny room made of rough stone. There was an old water pump with a battered wooden handle and a low copper tub. A small stand beside the tub completed the room. The tub was full of clear water.
“It’s not warm,” Hadrian said, looking a little embarrassed.
“I didn’t want to risk more fire than just lighting the stove, and I can’t do a thing with heat magic.
But I warmed it a little on the stove, so it’s not cold either.
There’s a towel there,” he pointed to a pile on top of the small stand.
“It’s not really a towel. It’s another sheet I found.
But it’ll do the job. And there’s some clean clothes under it for when you’re done.
I’ll just go take care of the bed. Don’t worry, I double checked the door and I’ll keep an ear out for any noise.
You can just relax. Well, as much as you can in a lukewarm bath with a hundred-year-old sheet for a towel and too small clothes.
” Dorian noticed a definite blush in Hadrian’s cheeks as he ducked his head and made his way back to the main room.
Dorian should probably have been more leery of stripping down in a strange house on the edge of a battlefield with nothing but a mage for protection, but he was far too eager to be out of his dirty clothes to care.
His shirt was stiff with dried blood and sweat, and his pants covered in dirt.
He threw his discarded clothes in a pile by the door and stepped into the tub.
Hadrian was right. The water wasn’t warm.
But it wasn’t as cold as it would have been straight from the well either.
Dorian wondered how long it had taken Hadrian to get it even this warm just using the stove.
But even slightly warm water felt good on his sore muscles and tired back.
He sat with his eyes closed and soaked for a few minutes.
The soap bar Hadrian had left was well used and smelled like soap. Generic fare for the generic battlefield soldier that would be happy with anything after days of fighting. At least some things were the same for both sides. He found that oddly comforting.
As he washed, his mind wandered to other things—things that were strangely not war.
It was odd to think how little he’d thought of anything else for years.
He remembered the fields where he’d watched his parents work.
The little stream that had run behind their house, where he played and caught frogs when he was supposed to be washing clothes.
He wondered if Hadrian had grown up in the capital.
How different had his childhood been in a city?
Did he have parents? Did he have a childhood, or was he like Dorian, forced into killing before he had a chance to grow up?
The water went cold while he lost himself in memories and speculation.
The sheet Hadrian left was stiff and musty, but clean enough.
He inspected his wounds as he dried. The pinkish skin over his side felt oddly smooth but not overly painful.
He looked over the wound on his shoulder, just above his heart, quickly.
No good would come of dwelling on that. The clothes under the sheet were neatly folded and smelled faintly of lavender.
Hadrian must carry some in his pack. That felt very him.
The shirt was too tight across the shoulders, the pants were too long, and he had to leave them unbuttoned to be comfortable, but it felt good to be clean again.
When he was finally dressed and had run his fingers through his short hair, he found himself reluctant to leave the small room. Questions swirled in his head. Most he didn’t have answers for. Most he shouldn’t even be asking.
Would Hadrian be ready to heal him now? Would he leave after?
What would Dorian do then? Take up residence in this little abandoned house all alone?
Wander the plains like a forgotten ghost until one side or the other found him?
What would Hadrian do when he left? Could he go home?
Did he want to? He had been the one to break his own people’s rules after all.
Would they hurt him for the kindness he showed the enemy?
Would he get to see his gardens and magical waterfalls again?
Eventually his gnawing stomach overcame his reluctance, and he made his way back to the living area. He found Hadrian in the kitchen room bent over the stove.
He turned and smiled at Dorian, and he was struck again by how beautiful this man was. Ethereal almost. It felt wrong for someone like Hadrian, who had spent his life killing and hating, to be on the receiving end of that smile. He felt his face heat as he shifted his eyes to the floor.
“There’s some food here,” Hadrian said. “Don’t get too excited. It’s just more spiced vegetables. But I had a little hard cheese in my pack too.”
Dorian shuffled over to him and took the offered wedge of cheese. His fingers brushed Hadrian’s as he accepted it, and his eyes sought out his face again against his will. Like a moth drawn to the firelight. Hadrian was still smiling at him.
They ate in silence over the still warm stove for a few minutes.
“Not to be ungrateful for what we have,” Hadrian said, sitting down his empty bowl.
“I am glad we are not starving—but I would kill for a cup of tea. I’m going to go grab some of that sunbell around the side of the house.
I haven’t heard a stirring outside and it shouldn’t take long.
So hopefully I won’t actually have to kill for it. ”
“I’ll go with you,” Dorian said, sitting down his own bowl a little reluctantly.
He was still hungry. But he didn’t like the idea of Hadrian being outside alone.
He didn’t have any way to defend himself, no matter how big he talked.
And it would be nice to be outside, even for just a few minutes.
The farmhouse was a godsend for them, but he craved fresh air.
“Oh,” Hadrian said. “Um, no. That’s alright. You still need to rest.”
“So do you. And like you said, it won’t take long.”
“Right, but… one of us should stay in here.”
“Why?”
“Um, well…” Hadrian sighed. Dorian wondered where this worry came from. Was Hadrian worried for him? Or was he worried Dorian would do something to him? That thought hurt.
“I can just stay on the porch if it makes you more comfortable,” Dorian said.
“What?” Hadrian said, blue eyes wide. “No, that’s not… It’s fine. Really. I’m just… it doesn’t matter. Grab that bowl for the leaves, would you?”
Dorian picked up the clay bowl he indicated and followed him to the door.
Hadrian still looked tense, and Dorian felt confused by this sudden shift in mood.
Up until this very moment, he had not seen any reluctance or hesitation in the mage.
Even when Dorian had threatened. Why was he so nervous now?
The old boards of the narrow porch whined under their boots when they stepped outside.
Hadrian flinched at the sudden noise, but Dorian only had eyes for the open fields.
He had seen the neutral ground a hundred times before, but only ever at a distance.
The falling-down farms and overgrown fields had always depressed him.
They reminded him of what was lost—to him and to his people.
But seeing the expanse of open fields now, surrounded by tumbled fences, tall weed grass blowing in the cool wind, and the ramshackle buildings dotting the landscape along the dirt path, he was reminded of home. It felt warm and familiar.
He followed Hadrian down the front steps and around the side of the house.
There was a path leading between the house and a small shed that still looked mostly intact, probably for tools and storage.
There were apple trees on one side of the shed.
Not enough for a crop, so probably just for the family that had once lived here.
They were withered now, though, and bore no fruit.
Hadrian stopped along the path and knelt near the house. He ran his hands over a patch of earth covered in leafy weeds. Dorian recognized a few leaves of sunbell but they were mostly stunted by the choking vines growing around them.
“Doesn’t look like enough for tea,” Dorian said, looking around.
Now that he really looked, there didn’t look to be enough of anything here for them to eat.
The vegetables would be out of season, and the fields hadn’t been tended in far too long to find anything useful.
There may be late crops in there somewhere, but it would be hard to find.
Hadrian sighed and placed his hand on the ground near the small sunbell leaves. “If you could not tell anyone about this,” he muttered. “I’d appreciate it.” The tops of his ears had gone red.
“What—”
Suddenly the sunbell leaves shook, then spread up, overtaking the weeds. The glossy golden leaves that had been stunted and withered fanned out, fat and healthy. In minutes there was lush sunbell spreading two feet down the path.
“How did you do that?” Dorian asked in wonder.
Hadrian flinched at the question. “Magic. It’s like healing.
Sort of. The roots are there. The memory of what was cultivated once.
I just… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.
I just reach out and put it back the way it was supposed to be.
I can feel them—the plants, the growing things.
Even if I can’t see them. It doesn’t take much magic really.
Less than healing a person. I’m not supposed to do it though.
I’m not even supposed to know how to,” he ended sadly.
“But why?”
“Because it’s not helpful.”
“How is this not helpful?” Dorian asked. “It’s amazing. I had no idea magic could do anything like this.”
Hadrian shook his head. “It’s not helpful to the war.
The farms of the capital grow enough food for everyone, so it’s not a useful skill.
We’re not supposed to use magic—practice magic—that’s not useful for the war.
” He looked up at Dorian with sad eyes, and Dorian’s heart broke for him.
Hadrian may have been raised in a clean, modern city with parents and stability, but he’d had as much taken from him as Dorian ever had.
“Can you do that with apples?” Dorian asked.
“Apples? I…” Hadrian smiled. “Yes. I could probably get us a few apples.”