Chapter 2 #2
It required very little coaxing for Ephraim to lay his palm against Hullvardr’s cheek, whereupon Hullvardr had but to turn his head to kiss the soft pad of flesh beneath his thumb. From thence his lips travelled quite naturally to the crystalline blue veins leaping in Ephraim’s wrist.
But when Hullvardr tried to draw him down beside him, Ephraim refused to budge.
At Hullvardr’s enquiring glance, Ephraim said, not unkindly, “Would it not be more prudent to summon your friend at once?”
Grytha would certainly have preferred it.
Still, Hullvardr resisted. Yes, his leg hurt, and yes, it was frustrating in the extreme, and yes, the sooner it was mended the sooner they’d both be better off…
but what he wanted more than that, in this moment, was for Ephraim to understand that he was precious, desirable, and loved.
So instead of something more practical, Hullvardr replied, “One more night won’t do me any harm.”
Ephraim did not appear altogether convinced of this.
Hullvardr kissed his knuckles again. His palm. His wrist.
This time, when he reached for Ephraim’s cheek and coaxed him down, Ephraim relented.
Injury and inclination alike forced Hullvardr to take slow and careful consideration with how he unfurled the petals of Ephraim’s garb to reveal the flowering beauty beneath.
His familiar bulk soon joined him beneath the bed-clothes, and from there Hullvardr had but to descend and take his beloved mortal into his mouth and send him off to sleep in bliss.
Hullvardr remained awake a while longer, his arms curled ‘round his darling Ephraim, softly stroking the silver strands that clung to the back of his head as he ruminated on the question that had so very nearly divided them.
He wondered how Ephraim would take all the other fae secrets the Holly King had forced him to keep.
Ephraim did not even know that his former clerk now commanded a realm of his own.
Hullvardr resolved to write with renewed vigour to seek permission to reveal all he knew of the Oak and Holly Kings.
There remained, however, a far more pressing matter.
Which of his friends, and many they were, would prove most worthy of an introduction to his beloved Ephraim?
Ephraim had of course been dimly aware that Hull in his seven hundred years must have enjoyed the company of many lovers before him.
He had never once begrudged him it. Indeed in certain flights of fancy the thought had greatly excited Ephraim, but of course he would never be so gauche as to bring the matter up directly.
Now however the matter had brought itself up in a manner far more direct than Ephraim would’ve ever dared.
He put it from his mind as he lay down with Hull, whose embrace sent him off to a sweet slumber. When he awakened, he found Hull already up, dressed, and at the desk, reading a letter whilst the wulpertinger patiently perched on the windowsill.
“Glad tidings!” Hull assured him before he could ask, holding the letter aloft. “My dear friend Drude has agreed to pay us a visit.”
The letter bore the same runes Ephraim had seen Hull write now and again, though in a different hand. Still, though he couldn’t understand it, it appeared friendly enough. More importantly it meant that Hull’s broken leg would soon be healed.
“When will he arrive?” Ephraim enquired.
“This evening.”
“Oh!”
Hull’s cheer turned to concern. “Is that too soon?”
“No, no, not in the least,” Ephraim replied. “I’m merely unaccustomed to fae speed.” He would have to beg off dining with Dr Hitchingham, but that would be easy enough, despite the weight upon his conscience. He hesitated. “This Mr Drude is… a long-standing friend of yours?”
Hull smiled. “We are very old friends, yes.”
“How old, precisely?”
A slight furrow appeared between Hull’s blue-black brows. He cast his eyes to the rafters. His tongue idly traced his doubled eye-teeth as he calculated. “Nigh-on five centuries, I should think.”
“Oh.” Ephraim had scarcely known Dr Hitchingham a tenth so long as that. “And… does he know about…?”
“Us?” Hull finished for him. At Ephraim’s nod, he looked a touch abashed. “I’ve told him about us, yes.”
Ephraim wondered what the fae thought of one of their own number taking a mortal lover. It happened often enough in ballads and fairy-stories—but always to youths and maidens, never an old hulk like himself.
“He’s rather eager to meet you,” Hull went on to Ephraim’s great astonishment.
Ephraim couldn’t imagine why. Still, “If he’s a friend of yours, then I’m eager to meet him as well.”
Hull appeared much relieved.
Ephraim dared to venture an impertinence. “Is he a huldrekall like yourself?”
“He is an incubus rather than a huldrekall,” Hull explained patiently. “A very gregarious fellow. He herds sheep in the summer months and spins wool all winter.”
When Ephraim had privately mused on what sort of trades the fae might hold, he had rather imagined more in the line of harvesting dew-drops or catching starlight.
That a fae gentleman—an incubus, he corrected himself—should have any vocation so commonplace as shepherd had not entered into the realm of possibility.
He supposed he ought to have known that the fae kept sheep, sheared wool, spun thread, and wove cloth. Hull wore woollen garments, after all.
“He’s quite tall,” Hull said, unprompted. At Ephraim’s bewildered glance, he added, “I don’t wish his appearance to startle you. And large though he may be, there is no one gentler in my acquaintance—present company excluded, of course.”
Ephraim blushed to hear it and demurred.
With Hull’s infirmity it fell to Ephraim to ready the office for their guest. Hull made some protestations at first, insisting that surely there was something he might do to assist, but Ephraim gently-yet-firmly informed him that the best thing he could do for all their sakes was rest up.
After all, Ephraim had kept house all by himself for years before even Lofthouse had come along.
He had not yet forgotten how to dust and sweep and delicately arrange matters of decoration, though his stiff joints might make him slower at it.
As for Dr Hitchingham, Ephraim told him he had an evening appointment with a distressed client.
Dr Hitchingham perfectly understood the professional importance of keeping such matters strictly confidential and made no further enquiries.
Thus a fraction of Ephraim’s nerves were eased, if not his conscience.
Housekeeping, both literal and figurative, kept Ephraim’s mind from speculation for most of the day.
But as the soft light filtering down through the fogged dimmed toward evening, he found his thoughts returning to the same well-worn furrows of worry.
It had been unnerving enough to introduce Hull to Dr Hitchingham when Hull was merely his new clerk and Dr Hitchingham his friend of fifty years.
Drude and Hull’s friendship spanned not just decades, but centuries.
What was the scarce year Hull had spent with Ephraim compared to that?
It didn’t require a fortune-teller to predict the result if Drude should take a dislike to him.
Ephraim had never wed, but he suspected it would’ve felt less imposing if he were trying to impress the family of his bride.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so desperate to win someone’s approval.
Ephraim kept these disquieting thoughts to himself as he and Hull enjoyed a late tea in lieu of dinner. He resisted the urge to pester Hull with fruitless questions about his friend; he would find out soon enough, and he felt determined to make his nerves hold out until morning at the very least.
After tea, they passed the time with Household Words.
Hull insisted on reading to Ephraim—which to Ephraim felt rather backward—on the excuse that his mind required the exercise after so many hours of indolence (a word to which Ephraim strongly objected, but Hull merely smiled at him) and furthermore expressed his wish to do something for Ephraim since Ephraim had been on his feet all day.
Ephraim could hardly argue the point, so he acquiesced to the dulcet tones of his beloved Hull’s narration.
At quarter-past seven, the bell rang.
Ephraim did not jolt out of his chair, but it was a very near thing.
Hull, far more measured, merely folded over the periodical and laid it aside. He smiled at Ephraim with eyes that glinted in eager anticipation.
Ephraim arose to go down and receive their guest. Before he could step away from the bed, however, Hull caught his hand.
“He will like you,” Hull assured him in that low tone seemingly designed to send songbirds fluttering through Ephraim’s ribcage. “He’s been on tenterhooks to meet you for some time.”
Ephraim resolved to take this encouragement in the intended spirit and did not point out how that fact merely increased the probability of drastic disappointment when Drude finally encountered him in the flesh.
His nerves frayed further and further with every step he took down the stair. Crossing the office to reach the door sent his heart fluttering into his throat. He discreetly coughed it down again and took a steadying breath to forestall the trembling in his fingertips.
Only for his breath to catch again upon opening the door.
The gentleman on the other side filled the door-frame. The span of his shoulders exceeded the threshold, and he had to bow ever-so-slightly to make his eyes meet Ephraim’s gaze rather than the wood overhead. Those eyes—dark, fathomless, and brimming with a shy warmth—smiled at him.