12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Rafi knocked quietly on Viau’s door that evening, a flutter within him that had nothing to do with aedis, although it wasn’t entirely new. Nerves, perhaps. Anticipation, though he did not know for certain what Viau’s answer would be.
He should have discussed the matter with Katoh, but she might have tried to give him seduction advice. Laure was more of a romantic, or so Rafi suspected. Cambray, always eager for a chance to bed one of his friends or find a new soulmate, had the kind of practicality Rafi appreciated.
“Just ask him,” Cambray had advised while shaving and grooming himself for his evening, while Rafi had washed up at a sink near him. “He might say no, but it’s convenient, fun, and he already likes you, so I doubt he will.”
No poetry, but also no advice on what to do if the answer was no. If that turned out to be the case, Cambray would probably try to set him up with one of his miné friends.
Viau opened the door as Rafi was shuddering at the thought.
Viau was somewhat dressed in pants and an untucked shirt, though barefoot.
His hair was loose, and he gave Rafi a brief moment of confused study, probably because Rafi was in one of his nicer shirts and had his hair in order because he’d come straight from his room.
“All is well? Did you need something?” Viau sniffed the air. “It couldn’t possibly be your time again so soon.”
Not a promising beginning. But Viau stepped back to wave him into the room before Rafi could summon an answer, and then gestured for Rafi to take the chair, as if Viau hadn’t clearly been at his desk again and needed it.
Rafi sat on the edge of the bed instead, only to then worry that his choice was rude, and then about how the launderers must have had to work hard to get all his slick and seed from the sheets.
His cheeks began to heat almost immediately.
Viau turned the chair slightly so he could face Rafi as he sat. He had two candles on the desk and some light still coming in through the windows and had clearly been answering letters or jotting in the bound book.
“I’m interrupting you.”
Viau sighed, but in a way that suggested exhaustion more than exasperation with Rafi. “Yes. But that doesn’t bother me nearly as much you think. I am far more interested in why you’ve come to my room.” As he said it, he impatiently brushed his curls back. They didn’t even tangle.
Rafi nearly sighed too. His would been the kind best done on a moonlit balcony by a yearning youth in a play.
“You like being here,” he said instead of commenting on Viau’s hair. “The academy, I mean. More than the capital.”
He got a small frown, then a nod. “And the king prefers the countryside. But we all have our responsibilities.”
“And gardens. You like those. All gardens?” Rafi couldn’t seem to get to the topic he wanted to get to. To reach for, he silently corrected himself, and felt that flutter again, like when he’d put that tiny ceribud among the rest of his things.
“I’ve never encountered a garden I couldn’t appreciate,” Viau answered slowly, as though he also wasn’t sure where Rafi was going.
“People assume you love the capital. Parties, court, plays… all of that.” Rafi briefly shut his eyes. “Never mind. I don’t want to interrupt you or bother you, is what I meant to say.”
“Yes. You’ve made that more than clear in the time I’ve known you.” Viau studied him, not appearing even slightly vexed when Rafi grumbled and crossed his arms. “So don’t let me interrupt you,” he went on, “with whatever it is you are trying to ask.”
“Cambray wishes to have our room to himself for the night,” Rafi blurted. “Usually when he does, I sleep on the floor in Laure’s room or find a spare bed if one is available.”
“Where does Cambray go when you need the room?” Viau wondered absently, then paused when their eyes met. “Are you asking to stay here?”
“Yes.” Rafi let out a tense breath. “On the floor if you prefer.”
Viau’s mouth tightened. “Once again, you…. Don’t worry.” He tutted as if he knew that Rafi had been doing exactly that. “I’m not angry. I’m… stymied, puzzled, sad, take your pick. Of course, not on the floor. Of course, you can stay here. On the floor? In Caia’s name….”
“You’re too courteous.” A rude thing to say to one’s host but it was true. “The floor is fine, over a rug at least. I brought a blanket.” He indicated the satchel hanging from one shoulder, where he had stuffed said blanket and some other things.
Viau leaned back slightly. “So, so careful. You were like that at the beginning too, until given permission not to be. Well, dared not to be. Are you worried I’ll take advantage if we share the bed?”
Rafi actually sputtered. “No! You’d never. Anyway, if you did, I’d hurt you.”
Viau laughed, pleased by that answer.
He didn’t know Rafi’s words were at least partly a lie, with Rafi hoping Viau might press the issue so he wouldn’t have to ask. But since that matter was settled, Rafi pulled the satchel open to take out a peach, which he got up to hand to Viau as a gift.
“You’re supposed to bring something for your host. Our housekeeper used to say that.
” Rafi hurried back to the bed once the peach was in Viau’s still hand.
“My mother too, I think, although she wasn’t instructing me so I might have misheard.
” Rafi would never inherit and was unlikely to ever run a house.
He hadn’t needed the lesson. “I brought it from the kitchen garden. One of their gardeners said that if you were inclined, you could observe and maybe advise when they graft some peaches… or trees… from a nearby farm.” His voice went up with his uncertainty that he’d remembered correctly.
“Graft was I believe the word used. The kitchen gardeners also know of your work?”
Viau stared at the peach, then pulled it to his chest before he looked up. “Host?”
“I thought possibly friends, but…”
“…Didn’t want to assume?” Viau finished for him, nodding. “I see.” His smile was small and sweet. “I’m honored to be counted your friend. More than you might realize.”
That, Rafi didn’t understand, but shifted to be slightly more comfortable.
“If you want to return to your work, I have a book to occupy me.” More poetry.
He understood some of it, but expressing himself in that manner was likely beyond him.
He hadn’t really expected a high placement anyway. Hoped, but not expected.
Viau regarded him with a fondly bemused air.
“What?” Rafi tugged the book from the satchel to show it off. “I do have a book, although I fear I will never put flowers into my words as you do.”
“You don’t need them. Your words are knives and knives are more than adequate.”
Rafi scoffed through his blush. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I called you a friend.”
“I have many friends.” Viau’s smile grew. “You are more selective, and probably more loyal than most. So when I say I am honored, that isn’t flowers. That is the truth. I am just as honored that you came to me tonight, even if the other option was Laure’s floor.”
“He smells like spice and apples,” Rafi revealed. “I don’t like how most miné smell.”
“And me?” Viau lost some of his smile. “Or should I ask?”
“Flowers.” Rafi gave him a partial truth, eyes on the desk and all the plants. He’d just implied he didn’t like flowers but didn’t know if explaining would be more awkward. “Do you work with flowers, or only herbal plants for the healers?”
“Herbs and flowers are not really separate categories as you might beli—” Viau coughed.
“Flowers?” His voice rose. “Yes, I followed our gardeners around when I was a child and the interest never left. I don’t have time, or land, for a garden of my own, but I like studying and playing with the different varieties.
Most gardeners don’t learn much reading or writing, or how to experiment and watch each step the way you must if you are training to use aer.
I’ve been helping them with that, however I can.
And with things like breeding stronger strains for their medicines, or strains that grow faster.
” He coughed again. “It’s an interest. That’s all. ”
“So you do use aer in ways that other swersoldi don’t.” Rafi didn’t crow it, but he was proud of himself. “I thought so. You watch aer during fights, don’t you?”
Viau gave him a suspicious look that made him seem no older than Laure despite having perhaps a decade on him.
“That’s hardly a crime,” he answered at last. “Most do it without realizing. Well, those stronger in aer do it without realizing. Not you,” he added that with a grin, “though you could. Or you could simply pull their aer from them and leave them weak.”
“That isn’t done,” Rafi reminded him stiffly.
Viau shrugged. “In the polite and civil every day, no. In the sort of duels the young get up to, no. In a fight for your life and the life of your charges? Oh, yes, it is done, but cautiously. When word gets out of a swersoldi that powerful and pitiless, they will be the first obstacle removed in any sort of attack. But again, most cannot, or would have to truly concentrate to manage it.”
Rafi nodded. “I won’t.”
This time, Viau scoffed. “You will. You take things far too seriously not to do whatever you need to do to protect someone.”
“It is a tool,” Rafi admitted, after a small hesitation. “So is the healing use of aer, if one wanted to use it for other purposes. Though I don’t know that I’d want to.”
“But you thought of it. Using healing to harm someone.” Viau didn’t even seem surprised. “Killer.”
“Are you not also a killer?” Rafi asked because Viau said it in a certain way, as if it was unusual.