6. Chapter 6
Rowan
The morning dawned fair as they rose, washed up a little, ate a hearty breakfast, then carried bags down to the carts.
The muddy path to the stables indicated it had rained a bit last night, and Rowan warned it likely meant some of the roads would be washed out.
Thanks to the rain, the air felt brisk, and Rowan made sure Milo was bundled up in everything warm, not wanting him to get a chill during a full day of travel, especially since they’d likely be camping out tonight.
Rowan was now trying to saddle Stan and get them on the road. Trying being the operative word there. He had two reasons why this simple goal hadn’t been achieved yet. First reason: Ruben. Second reason: Milo.
Ever since Ruben had met Milo last night, it had been nonstop teasing. He could tell his brother was happy for him; he just wished Ruben would find some other way to express himself.
Ruben hovered nearby while a bundled-up Milo put a lightening spell on his cart. “Whoa, you really are a mage, huh? Rowan didn’t just pick you up and drag you home?”
Milo shot him an aggrieved look. “Are you seriously jorking my peen about this?”
“I’m fucking stroking it, man.”
“FYI—that stands for fuck you, idiot, by the way—”
Rowan bit back a chuckle. Ahh, he knew Milo could handle Ruben. The teasing didn’t even faze him; Milo just dished it right back.
“—I am a Second Circle Mage.”
Ruben reared back on his heels, surprise flitting across his face. “What the hell, seriously? How did we get a Second Circle Mage?”
“I volunteered.” Milo turned his head to give Rowan a lecherous look, that wiggle of his blond brows said as much, but there was warmth in his expression. Something that touched Rowan’s heart. “For which I’m very grateful now.”
Yes, so was he. Very grateful Milo had made that choice. He’d never have met the man otherwise. Still aggrieved Milo had been forced out of Goldguard just to escape his ex, though.
“There.” Milo finished the casting and turned away from Ruben entirely. “Rowan, it’s pretty windy today. The mountain road, is it open or lots of trees?”
“Open at first. Trees later this afternoon.”
“Ohh, okay. In that case, I think we better braid your hair. You’ll be eating hair all day, otherwise.”
Rowan sometimes tied his hair up, true, but he couldn’t recall a single instance when he’d braided it. It was a good idea, though. He normally was eating hair and trying to stuff it under his shirt collar when he went through the mountain stretch.
He acquiesced with a simple nod, moving to where Milo pointed, standing near the cart so Milo could get up on it and have the right height to work.
Ruben, of course, couldn’t let this go. “Aww, Milo, need a boost, buddy?”
“Fucking shut it. I’m not short, you people are just giants.”
That was true, actually. Milo wasn’t short. He was a good height for a man. But Rowan’s family had always been giants, and in comparison, Milo looked of average height.
Ruben cackled, pleased his teasing had hit its mark. Rowan shot him a warning look. He could tease, yes, but if he pushed Milo too hard, Rowan would come down on him like a hammer, brother or no.
Honestly, some would say given Ruben’s reputation, Rowan should keep a close eye on his brother. Ruben fucked anything that moved. But he knew in the depths of his being, Ruben would never touch someone Rowan dated. His brother would never betray him.
Tease mercilessly, yes. Be an asshole, no.
Gentle fingers carded through his hair and along his scalp, and for a moment, Rowan’s eyes closed in pure, simple pleasure. It felt really nice. Surprisingly so. None of Rowan’s past lovers had ever played with his hair. Could he convince Milo to do this more often?
Ruben’s expression changed from teasing to intrigued. He came around to stand at Rowan’s side, looking on. “You really are braiding his hair. Fishtail braid?”
“Yup.” Milo’s fingers didn’t even pause.
“You know how to do that…how?”
“I was my great-aunt’s caretaker toward the end of her life,” Milo explained simply.
“Her hands were badly snarled with arthritis. Even my healing potions just didn’t have any real effect after a while, except to dull the pain.
There were a lot of things she couldn’t do—hair was one of them.
Ethel taught me how to braid hair and do buns for my great-aunt. ”
And wasn’t that so like Milo? To assume the burden of care for someone he loved. To learn skills he might never use again just to aid one person. It spoke well of his heart.
The jokester fell away and Ruben studied him carefully. “Was there no other family to help?”
“No. I’m the only member of my family left.
” Though his fingers were braiding steadily, his voice sounded soft and sad.
His words made Rowan’s heart ache, but before he could try to comfort him, Milo announced, “All right, Rowan, done. I added a bit of magic to make it windproof, so the braid should hold. Shall we go?”
Rowan turned to see Milo’s usual smile in place as he moved toward the cart’s bench, the perfect picture of composure. But Rowan knew him better than that.
“Milo, I need Ruben’s help over here. One moment.” Without waiting for a response, Rowan caught Ruben by the shoulder, dragging him into one of the empty stalls before hauling him in closer, dropping his voice to a soft, menacing growl. “You make him sad, I rip your throat out.”
“Peace, Brother. I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew.” Ruben’s ginger brow was in a single line, like he was worried now. “He’s really all alone? That’s so sad.”
Yes, it was. It broke Rowan’s heart sometimes. “He’s not alone now. He has me.”
“You’re really latching on to him, eh? Sex must be fantastic. Then again, after a dry spell of three years…”
For that, Rowan smacked him upside the head. Ruben chortled, pleased to get a reaction, and skipped to his own cart, calling out a “Nice braid!” as he went.
Rowan reminded himself, again, that he loved his brother. He’d regret strangling him.
Maybe.
They got on the muddy road, Rowan riding alongside Milo once more.
This open, windswept grassland wouldn’t be the dangerous part of the trip.
Bandits wouldn’t start popping out until they reached the forest surrounded Gravegarde.
Rowan’s main job was keeping the fortress secure and defended, but he did make sweeps through the duchy every six months or so to keep the bandits down.
It helped. He just wished they could think of a better solution.
An hour into the trip, the wind became so strong, they couldn’t easily talk to each other.
The wind would snatch their words and leave them more lip reading than anything else.
Rowan’s ears started to ring, so he stole a bit of cotton from the packing around Milo’s potion bottles and stuffed both ears with it. He helped Milo do the same.
Ruben could suffer.
They kept going, the road becoming a bit steeper as they approached Duskwall, named as such for the rocky outcropping just inside the foothills.
By noon, they’d started to gain significant elevation, and Rowan could just see the roofs of the watchtowers peeking out over the tops of the trees.
The cliffs looked closer than they actually were, he knew that, but still his heart longed to be home.
Mostly because he missed his bed. When they finally did hit the tree line later that afternoon, they unanimously decided to stop for a belated lunch break.
With the trees as a windbreak, it was feasible to stop and eat now.
He’d had food packed for lunch at the inn: cold cut beef sandwiches, potato crisps, and sliced-up fruit. Plus a large clay jar of sun tea. He’d made sure enough was packed for Milo’s bottomless pit, too. Hopefully he had, anyway.
Ruben pulled up a log near them and unpacked his own lunch, which was more of the same fare. He didn’t say much at first, intent on stuffing his face, and Rowan accepted the silence with gratitude.
Something shifted on his brother’s face, more thoughtful than scheming. “Hey, Milo? Rowan fill you in on what needs to be done at the duchy?”
Milo had his mouth full but nodded.
“The basics,” Rowan clarified.
“Gotcha. So, what are you going to tackle first?”
Why did his question feel like a test?
Milo held up one finger, asking for a second, finished the bite in his mouth, and washed it down with some tea before answering.
“The ward. From what Rowan tells me, people only patched it and didn’t do a proper overhaul.
It’ll be dangerous to take it down at the beginning of breeding season, of course, but it needs to be done.
I don’t want it failing or letting something through in the middle of the night. ”
Rowan had nightmares about that very thing happening, so he was heartily glad Milo understood the problem.
“After I’m done with the ward, I’ll tackle the sigils on the watchtowers.” Milo sat back, grey eyes narrowed. “Rowan, you said the sigils are glitchy. They sometimes work, sometimes don’t.”
“Right.”
“Are the sigils painted inside or outside of the watchtower?”
“Inside, but it’s not a fully enclosed space. Open windows.”
“So it’s open to weather? Huh. I’ll bet you they’re malfunctioning because the paint on the sigils has faded.
That has to stay intact for the sigil to work.
” Milo shot Rowan a look as he picked up a potato crisp.
“Anyone ever go in and renew those sigils? Just paint the same pattern to renew the design?”
“I didn’t know we could,” Rowan admitted with a shrug.
“Same,” Ruben seconded, jaw clenched with aggravation. “No one told us. I thought a mage would have to renew them.”