10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Marcos watched as the magic of the Well swirled around Evander, as it consumed and subsumed him, until he could barely see the outline of his figure, the power seething around him until he was nearly lost.

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, the leather straps digging into his skin. He'd promised himself—promised Evander, though not in as many words—that he wouldn't interfere. This was Evander's choice, and the path that he'd decided to tread.

He trusted Evander, had always trusted Evander, even when he hadn't been particularly trustworthy, but as Marcos watched the magic batter and battle Evander, he discovered entirely new levels of trust.

He will stop it if it's too much.

He promised.

But can anyone stop this? Can you?

Marcos didn't know the answer to that, but he knew that if it came down to it, he'd give his immortal life to save Evander if that was what it took.

He'd always known that, but as the seconds ticked by, the vow inside of him grew stronger, grew teeth and talons and dug itself as deeply into Marcos' heart as it could.

And then, nearly as suddenly as it began, it was over.

The power evaporated like it had never existed, and Marcos was already nearly to the Well when Evander fell, slumping over.

He was fast and he was nimble, and he caught Evander's head in his hands before it hit the ancient stones surrounding the Well, deeply carved runes worn from so many thousands of years.

Checking Evander's pulse with his own racing out of control, he discovered that it was strong and steady.

He was alive, then. Just knocked out.

Marcos felt a swell of relief as he lifted the other Guardian, carrying him away from the Well, and carefully setting him down. He returned a moment later with blankets and with Evander's fur cloak, wrapping him in it, and when he was sufficiently protected from the cold, he tucked himself into his own cloak, and then lifted Evander into his lap, surrounding Evander's much smaller body with his much larger one.

He sat like that for what could have been days, but Marcos knew it was only an hour, maybe two.

Every once in a while, Evander would stir in his sleep, and Marcos would soothe him as best he could, stroking the bright gold waves of his hair.

Then, finally, he woke up, bright eyes opening and fastening directly on to Marcos' face.

"It's over," Marcos said, a little stupidly.

He was thinking of the kiss they'd shared before Evander had approached the Well.

He was thinking of how it had felt, not like Evander was just exploring the option, or angry, like he had been the night in the Mother's cabin, but more. Like Evander was actually beginning to feel something, maybe even something similar to what had consumed Marcos for all these years.

"Yes," Evander breathed out unsteadily. "Yes. It's over."

"Did . . ."

Evander pulled a hand from inside his cloak and, for a moment, considered it, staring at it, and then he reached out and a flame, tinged violet at the edges, bloodred at the center, blossomed.

The flame coupled with the peace on Evander's face told the whole story.

It had worked.

The flame extinguished and Evander scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the long fur cloak in his eagerness.

And then, suddenly, he was an eagle, and he was soaring upwards through the air, buoyed by the winds swirling around the top of the mountain.

Then he landed, and abruptly, he was a lion, fierce and with a shaggy mane, roaring his satisfaction, and then he was a horse, coat the darkest pitch black of night and magnificent, and then he was Evrard.

Then Rhys.

And then, finally, he was Evander again, and he was smiling.

"Yes," he repeated again, triumph in every sound he made, "yes, yes, yes, yes." He laughed, and then flung himself into the air again, this time a phoenix, bursting into flame, and he came to rest in front of Marcos again, this time the fabulous feathers of a peacock flaunting behind him.

Marcos found himself laughing, happiness overflowing inside him as he watched Evander finally indulge in every wild fantasy and test the limits of his power, again. Finally.

Evander changed form another half a dozen times, and then it seemed that he had indulged in his fill, because in the end, he came to sit next to Marcos, leaning his head on his shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"I did nothing. I merely let you risk yourself," Marcos said.

"No," Evander argued. "You made the dagger. You made it for me. Without it, I couldn't have touched the power in the Well. You made that possible."

"I didn't know," Marcos admitted. "I didn't know what I was doing."

"Doesn't matter," Evander dismissed.

"Where is the dagger?" Marcos wondered. "Is it . . . did it . . ." It shouldn't have hurt that the dagger had been lost in the transfer of power. Just seeing Evander change and then change and then change again, laughing at the freedom he felt, at the intoxicating pull of his magic, that was enough.

But it did hurt, that it had been lost. It had been a physical manifestation of what he'd felt, that long-ago winter. All the agony and the hope and the joy and the love.

"No," Evander said, and pulled it from beneath a fold in his cloak.

It was still his dagger. Still the same leather-wrapped handle, still the same curved blade, still as sharp as if Marcos had just cleaned and honed it himself. But the golden symbols of power and strength and magic that he embedded in every blade he forged, they had changed.

They were glowing bright bluish white now, and when Evander laughed, they shifted color, morphing from blinding white to violet to the deepest red.

"It's yours, truly, now," Marcos said in a hushed voice.

"Yes," Evander agreed. "It might have always been mine, but now it belongs to me."

I've always belonged to you; even before I realized it, I was yours.

Marcos wasn't sure he'd ever belong to Evander, not the same way. That was a hard reality to face, but he'd been facing it for so many years now that he'd learned to accept it.

Nothing should feel differently now, but with Evander kissing him, before he'd gone into danger, and now, with him resting his head on his shoulder, it did. Completely.

"We should rest," Marcos said, clearing his throat. "I will keep watch."

"But . . ." Evander tried to interrupt.

"This could possibly still be a trap. I haven't been convinced otherwise, no matter what you were able to take from the Well," Marcos pointed out.

Evander's expression turned grave. "You don't think Vanya called me here so I could restore my power?"

That was not what he thought at all.

"No," he said. Not elaborating any further.

"Oh. I was so sure . . ."

Marcos wanted to shake him, yell at him until the truth sank in. Vanya wasn't his friend anymore, hadn't been his friend in a thousand years. If he had truly been, he'd have been right next to Marcos, watching over him, making sure he wasn't alone.

But he knew Evander well enough to realize that he wouldn't want to hear the truth. The only path to acceptance was if Evander came to the conclusion himself.

"Regardless of what happened with you and the Well, I still think there could be a trap here, waiting to be sprung."

"Well," Evander said, voice brightening, "at least if there is a trap, I can help defend against it now."

"You could have done that before," Marcos countered. "You still had power. Less power, but you weren't defenseless. I'm going to start a fire, bring the packs up, and the horses, too." He stood, not particularly wanting to argue about this. He was thrilled that Evander had gotten his power back, because he could only imagine how painful losing it had been. But it annoyed him considerably that Evander thought he had been useless without it. Without it, he'd accomplished more than the Conclave, with their remaining eleven Guardians and all the power they had at their disposal.

He spent the next hour bringing up all the supplies, then carefully leading the horses up the rest of the steep, icy path. He settled them a good distance from the Well, giving them a nice brushing and draping cloaks over them to keep them warm, though, as he'd told Evander earlier, they were warmer than the two of them were. No doubt another gift from the Mother.

Evander had gone to collect what wood he could find, but the whole while Marcos was working, he swore he could feel his gaze on his back, watching him.

Considering him.

It made his skin tight and hot, and flashes of the kiss they'd shared earlier kept returning, and then there were the memories of what they'd shared the night before distracting him.

When he could put it off no longer, he returned to where Evander was piling up the branches and sticks he'd gathered.

"It's definitely growing colder," Evander said, as Marcos pulled his flint from a pocket and dropped down on his haunches in front of the wood, ready to start the process of starting a fire.

With the wind and the cold, it wasn't going to be easy.

But right when he was about to strike the first time on the flint, suddenly there was fire, and it was flickering bright and unwavering, the wood catching like it wasn't nearly frozen solid.

He glanced back at Evander, who was grinning unrepentantly. "That seemed like a lot of work when I knew a shortcut," he said. "A lot of effort that would be better used someplace else."

"You always were a show-off," Marcos grumbled, but he was pleased that he didn't have to kneel in front of the pile for ages, trying to get a flame to catch.

"If you have it, you should use it," Evander said smugly. "Besides, starting that fire was going to be a nightmare. You know that."

Grudgingly, Marcos nodded.

"Come sit by me," Evander said, gesturing towards the cocoon of blankets he'd created. He held up the leather pouch of dried meat and a waterskin. "I have excellent provisions and I'll even share with you."

Marcos didn't need to be invited twice. He tucked himself in next to Evander, already feeling a bit warmer. "I do not know if I would categorize these as excellent," he pointed out, as he took a piece of meat and began to chew it.

"What I wouldn't give for a nice roast, hot from the spit, and a nice flagon of good wine," Evander said mournfully. "And a warm bed."

"I can keep you warm," Marcos said, pulling him a bit closer against him.

Evander gazed up at him, and the heat in his eyes more than made up for the frigid wind blowing around them. "And I didn't even have to ask," he teased.

It occurred to Marcos then, as he lifted Evander into his lap and he nudged his cold nose against his neck, trying to warm it, that he'd wanted this too, but he hadn't wanted to ask for it.

The wall he'd been trying to keep around his heart, trying to protect it from getting in any deeper than he already was, crumbled a little bit more.

Evander hadn't thought he could fall asleep, the power still electrifying every inch of his body, and the cold seeping in bone-deep, but it turned out that tucked into Marcos, he could and did fall asleep.

He'd meant to stay awake, too, because Marcos didn't have to always be the one keeping watch, but then he'd gone and slipped off into sleep without being able to stop himself.

He must have been more tired than he realized, because he didn't open his eyes until the glare of the rising sun glinting off the icy ground woke him.

Shifting, he realized that during some time in the night, Marcos had moved, and while he was tucked up tightly against him, he wasn't in his arms any longer.

He shouldn't have missed touching in so many spots, but he did—even though logically of course they couldn't have stayed that way all night.

"You're awake," Marcos said quietly, but it startled him anyway.

"Didn't mean to sleep so long," Evander admitted, but the soft, contented smile on Marcos' face, like he hadn't wanted him to do anything else, brushed away his concern. "I must have been really comfortable."

"I . . ."

Evander would never know what Marcos was about to say next, because suddenly, the sun wasn't just bright against the flawless white of the ice and the snow, it was blinding, and Evander realized that it wasn't the sun at all.

It was the light of a figure, dressed in a white robe, feet bare, barely touching the ground as it walked towards them.

Evander scrambled to his feet, shocked and yet not, all at the same time. He'd known he'd come. He'd known that it wasn't a trap, that when Vanya had called his name, and said he wanted to meet here that he'd meant it.

He'd know Vanya's voice anywhere, and he'd known it, deep down in the place where he could always determine the truth from a lie, even after Deimos had stripped him of his powers.

And he knew now that this, without a doubt, was Vanya.

He heard Marcos come to his feet behind him, but he only had eyes for the man in front of him.

Vanya had come. The moment he'd become truly a Guardian again, Vanya had come for him.

"Evander, you kept your promise," he said, his voice as melodious as ever, his eyes the same warm, soft brown, his hair still shining dark curls. He couldn't change. He was everlasting.

They were everlasting.

"I said I would come, and I am here. Are we to return to the Castle at the Top of the World?" It stung, more than he thought it would, the idea of leaving the surface behind. Of leaving Rory and Gray and Anya and Marthe, and all the people he'd grown close to. But they did not need him, anymore. They would do just fine on their own, and he was not a human, he was a Guardian, and he felt the excitement rise in him, banishing away the hurt, just at the idea of returning to his rightful place.

The place he'd been denied.

"Return to the Castle at the Top of the World?" Vanya's voice was amused.

"You should not have come."

Evander heard Marcos' voice behind him. Heard the steel in his tone. But couldn't quite believe it. Could not understand it.

Vanya's gaze flicked to where Marcos stood. "You know nothing, Marcos."

"I do know I hoped it was actually a trap, and that it was not truly you who was calling Evander. He deserves better than to be finally acknowledged after all this time, and after what you did."

Evander was confused. "What did Vanya do?"

If he hadn't once known the Guardian in front of him so well, had not spent thousands of years at his side, sharing a bed, sharing confidences, sharing a friendship that should have endured, but hadn't, he might have missed it. But he didn't.

There was the barest flicker of unease in Vanya's eyes before he pushed it away.

Marcos walked up next to Evander. Didn't touch him, but he didn't need to. His claim was visceral, it lay in the air like a brand, or a chain.

Evander wasn't sure he liked it, probably because he didn't understand it.

"Should I tell him, or should you?" Marcos asked. He gestured. "We both know what you should do, but it remains to be seen what you will do."

"Tell me what," Evander demanded to know.

"Marcos is confused, he doesn't know what he speaks of," Vanya said smoothly. "He's lying."

But Marcos had never lied. He wasn't a liar. He didn't bend the truth to suit his own needs, either. He spoke the truth and he spoke it clearly and proudly, never with any prevarication. That was how he'd always been, and as they'd grown closer over the last few weeks, Evander hadn't discovered anything about him that proved differently.

"Marcos doesn't lie," Evander said.

"But he keeps secrets, doesn't he? We all do." Vanya's voice was taunting. "I bet you have even discovered one about him."

He had. But secrets weren't lies. Nobody knew that as intimately as Evander did.

"No," Evander said. "He doesn't lie."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marcos shrug. "So be it," he said, and then turned towards Evander. "You wanted to know who betrayed you to Deimos, when he stripped you of your powers and banished you to the surface. It was not me, though I understood why you might think so. It was someone else. It was Vanya."

Evander stared at him, shock hitting him like a punch to the stomach. "What?"

"You must understand," Vanya said, "I didn't know what Deimos would do, and I did warn you, you remember. I came to your chambers and told you that it was best if you left the surface and the sorcerers there alone, but you wouldn't listen. You never listened. Still, I thought a reprimand from Deimos would be enough to scare you straight."

He almost sounded regretful as he tried to excuse his actions. Almost.

"You knew I was going to think it was Marcos." He was so angry, so completely, utterly furious that he could barely spit the words out.

Vanya waved a careless hand. "You didn't know Marcos' secret, shockingly, and so I thought, he might be a better scapegoat than I." He shot Marcos a triumphant smile. "If you'd told him when you should have about your silly crush, he'd have never believed that you'd betray him. Evander takes that kind of thing seriously."

Evander stared at the Guardian he thought he'd known.

At the friend.

"I should have guessed," he said, voice hard and unrelenting, because if he let himself waver, he'd do something worse, like try to burn Vanya to a crisp, or even worse, cry, "because you weren't here, you didn't follow me, you never tried to make sure I was protected. But Marcos always did."

"Of course Marcos did," Vanya said slyly.

And that was somehow even worse. Evander didn't even think, just raised his hand and the flame rushed through him, blossoming on his palm effortlessly.

It wouldn't really hurt Vanya, not permanently, but it would feel satisfying to throw a few fireballs in his direction.

"Wait," Marcos said, putting a hand on Evander's arm. "Wait. I want to know why he's here. There's more he needs to tell us before you try to roast him."

Vanya laughed indulgently. "Like you could. You can barely conjure a thing, these days. Though there was that silly little experiment where you shifted into a unicorn and tried to pretend to be a king."

The fire roared in Evander's ears and he let it rush out of him, leaving him dizzy, but still upright. That was Marcos' hand, holding him up.

He saw the shock in Vanya's eyes. And he knew then, though he'd already known, deep down, that Vanya had not brought him here so he could restore his powers. And he had not come here because Evander had figured out with the help of the Mother how to use the Well.

He'd come for another reason entirely.

The fire stopped an inch from Vanya's nose.

"I see you have each other on a leash now." Vanya sounded amused by this. "I wondered if you would ever win him over, Marcos."

Evander's temper spiked again at the way he talked down to Marcos. Like he truly was that stupid Guardian, all instinct and no brain, who was only good with a sword. Evander supposed that he too had laughed about it, a long time ago. But he knew better now. Marcos was loyal and true, and he not only had a mind, he used it well.

Vanya was wrong about him, and it turned out he'd been wrong about Evander, too.

"Tell me what you want," Evander demanded. "Why did you call us here?"

"Or what? You'll burn me?"

The fire, a wall of it, burning violet and red and white, flickered right against Vanya's nose.

"Yes," Evander said, and meant it.

He would.

Vanya would eventually shed his scorched skin like a snake, but in the meantime, he'd hate being ugly.

Vanya had always loved how beautiful he was. How seductive. How perfect.

Now Evander could see what he'd always been. Self-centered, and only caring about others when it suited him.

The rage inside him billowed.

"In fact, I come with a message from another," Vanya said lightly. "And he will not be pleased when I tell him you have recovered your power."

"Deimos sent you?" Marcos did not sound particularly surprised, only worried. Evander heard him draw his sword.

Vanya nodded. "He does not like how powerful you have grown. He did not like how close Marcos was. Even if he never revealed himself. And now it seems, he has. That," Vanya said inexorably, "is not going to do you any favors, Evander."

"Deimos banished me. He no longer has any say over what I do and how I choose to do it," Evander said between clenched teeth.

"On the contrary, he is still your leader. He punished you, and he thought, perhaps, he could bargain with you. Which is why he had me summon you. You would not come if he did it, but me? Your everlasting friend? I knew you would come. Deimos knew it, too."

"Bargain with Evander over what?" Marcos questioned.

"There's nothing you could have bargained with that would have swayed me," Evander said righteously, and wanted to believe it.

But Vanya's expression told a different story.

"I believe there might have been something we could have given you that would've convinced you to remove yourself from human politics. When King Emory took the throne, we believed you would stay in your valley."

Originally, he'd intended to. But it was so lonely, so bleak, so many years stretching out in front of him with nothing to do, nobody to talk to, that he'd ended up returning to Beaulieu only a few weeks after he'd told Gray he'd never see Evrard again.

That particular promise had not been too difficult to circumvent—he'd returned as Rhys, intending by the time he arrived to retire and stay Rhys for the rest of his days.

"Why do you care what Evander does and doesn't do on the surface? The Conclave has long since removed itself from humanity," Marcos said, giving his sword an absent-minded swing that was certainly on purpose. But then Evander's wall of flame had flickered but not moved, only a breath away from Vanya's face.

Evander thought about this for a second, his mind whirling.

They'd thought he'd stay in the valley. They would've preferred that he stay in the valley.

Evander remembered then, Sabrina's workshop that Gray had shown him when he'd come back to Beaulieu, buried in the bowels of the castle. Much of her supplies and evil magics had been cleansed from the room, but there'd been a residual smell, a feel about the things that remained that had reminded him of something that he hadn't quite been able to place.

And now, suddenly, he realized what it was that had been so confoundedly familiar about it.

He'd dismissed it at the time, as the impression had been so faint, he'd been sure he'd been confused.

But now he knew he hadn't been confused at all.

He'd smelled Deimos in Sabrina's workshop.

Suddenly, it became very clear where the first sorcerer had gotten his power to begin with, and why it felt like Evander could never quite defeat them, generation after generation.

Why Deimos had not wanted Evander to pursue the subject and had ordered him to drop it.

Why he'd banished him, instead of merely punishing him for a few decades.

It had been Deimos all along, directing those sorcerers. He'd created a cult of his own followers, and then imbued them with his own power.

Vanya smiled slowly as the realization must have dawned across Evander's face.

"You see," Vanya said, "Evander knows. Deimos hoped you would be satisfied with defeating the woman, the sorceress, and you would stop looking, stop fighting. Return to your valley and forget about it all."

"But I didn't."

"No." Vanya took a step and the fire flickered, and pushed outward. "No, you did not. I came here to try to bargain with you, Evander. But you are too clever for your own good. You always were."

"Why Deimos?" Marcos demanded. "Why would you side with him?"

"He has an entire cult of followers, and their belief is very strong." Vanya's tone turned regretful. "So much stronger than any belief has been in the Guardians for hundreds of years."

"You compromised your ideals, and the task we were charged with, and the very fabric of our existence, so people would worship you again." Evander was disgusted and could not pretend otherwise. He'd always admired Vanya so much, and to discover that he'd not been worthy of a single moment of that admiration made him sick to his stomach. But the nausea didn't stop him from pushing the fire forward again. Harder. It blazed even fiercer. For the first time, Evander saw a flicker of fear in Vanya's eyes.

"You should understand," Vanya protested. "You hated being the Guardian of Secrets. You complained about it all the time."

"Perhaps, but I never would have done this," Evander said and felt the truth of it echo in his bones.

Maybe he'd been dissatisfied with the duties he'd been charged with, but he'd never been weak, not like Vanya.

"Go back to your owner," Marcos said laconically, and suddenly his sword wasn't absently swinging but pointed, in all its deadly glory, right alongside Evander's fire. "I am sure he is missing you."

"No," Vanya protested. "No, I need you to promise me that you'll let it go."

"Now that I know this is all Deimos' doing? And that I never eradicated the sickness of the power among humans?" Evander laughed humorlessly. "I don't think so."

"We'll let you come back to the Castle," Vanya promised, clearly scrambling.

"If I forget about the sorcery cult and Deimos' involvement?" Evander let the question hang in the air.

Long enough for Vanya to hang himself.

He nodded, eagerly.

Evander laughed again and this time when he did, he pushed the fire out with a roar and Vanya scrambled backwards, running as it chased him, until he dove right back into the Well, leaving only the steam of the fire colliding with the power remaining.

For a very long moment, all Evander could hear was the roaring of the fire in his ears, the beat of his own heart as he breathed in and out.

Then he heard Marcos' boots, sure and solid on the ice, approach.

"It had to be done," Marcos said, and he sounded regretful.

Which made sense.

You should not have come.

He'd wanted the voice to not be Vanya's. He'd wanted it to be a trap so . . . resolution hardened in Evander's veins. So he wouldn't have to tell him the truth about Vanya's treachery. He'd known and he'd not said a word, not even when Evander had believed that it had been Marcos who betrayed him.

He whirled around, fury mounting in him again.

No, not again. Still.

He was so angry at Vanya, still. At his weakness, at the complete lack of honor. At how easily he'd been seduced into doing Deimos' bidding. But now he was also furious at Marcos, who owed him the truth but had refused to share it.

"You knew," Evander said, turning to confront the other Guardian. "You knew and you never told me."

"I . . ." Marcos wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He looked uneasy. Maybe because he'd just witnessed Evander assail Vanya with an entire wall of flame. "I hoped that you wouldn't have to know. And some of it . . ." he added hurriedly, "I didn't know for sure. Deimos' involvement with the sorcerers, for example, that was not something I could prove, though I suspected."

"That's what you threatened him with," Evander said, the pieces falling into place in his head.

Did it make him any less furious now that he understood all of it? No.

"Yes." Marcos' answer came with a resigned sigh.

"He was afraid, because you knew, and he thought you might tell me."

"I think . . ." Marcos hesitated. "I think as long as we stayed apart, they did not care. The threat was less."

"But Vanya called to me before you revealed your true self. You were still Merleen when you insisted on coming with me."

"Yes, but . . ." More hesitation. Evander wanted to reach over and shake the Guardian until he spilled all his secrets.

But you don't need to do that, you've always been the best at making people talk.

The biggest problem was that he both desperately wanted to know all of Marcos' secrets, and he was terrified of them.

What they'd make him feel.

"Just say it," Evander spit out. Not the most persuasive tactic he'd ever used, but he'd lost his patience. Vanya had compromised it, and then Marcos had shredded it utterly.

"I was going to tell you, that night in Beaulieu, when I nearly caught you changing," Marcos confessed. "When we . . ."

When we almost kissed.

"Yes," Marcos said quietly. "I couldn't do it, not when you didn't know who I was. And honestly, I was more surprised than anything that you would. After all, you'd known Merleen for months, known about his obvious crush, and you'd never shown any interest."

"I was . . ." He could not say, I was bored. But it was part of the truth.

The rest of it? Evander refused to look too closely at any of the other pieces.

"It was on the tip of my tongue to say it, even though I knew you would be so angry that it wasn't Merleen, a completely uninvolved, entirely harmless man, but me. So I didn't. But they—Deimos, at least—must have seen, and must have realized it was only a matter of time."

"For the Guardian of Secrets, you certainly kept a lot from me." Evander didn't try to hold back the bitterness in his tone. "Even when we were with the Mother, and she made her request, you didn't give anything away."

Marcos' expression had turned pleading. Desperate. But it didn't make a dent. Evander had believed himself impervious to betrayal; that his banishment had been so utterly painful that nothing else could touch it.

He'd been wrong.

This ached, deep down, in a place that he didn't think anyone else had ever touched.

Not even Vanya.

"Were you laughing at me that night? I was so . . ." He'd been something. Determined. Aroused. Intrigued.

"Evander, what I said that night was the truth. No matter what I suspected, I still wanted to believe that we could leave it alone. That we could just . . .be."

"Together. You thought that we could just be, together."

Marcos turned away then, and the soft part of Evander, the part that ached, told him to follow. To apologize, even though he had nothing to apologize for.

"I know you are angry with me for not telling you my suspicions . . ."

Evander interrupted. "I am angry you didn't tell me about Vanya, and that you didn't tell me any of your suspicions."

"How could I tell you that the Guardian you most trusted, your friend and your lover, had been the one to betray you?" Marcos demanded, and suddenly there was a flare of temper in his voice.

Anger at Evander? Or anger at himself?

He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.

Evander was only relieved that he wasn't angry alone anymore.

"By simply saying it," Evander argued, enunciating each word carefully. "Unless you thought I'd hate the messenger . . ."

The guilt Evander spotted in Marcos' eyes told the whole story. He'd thought exactly that. That telling Evander the truth about Vanya would mean that he'd never, ever see Marcos as anything else.

"I was wrong," Evander muttered darkly, "you are stupid."

The resignation on Marcos' face should have been satisfying. Except that ached too.

"Come," Marcos said abruptly, "we need to pack up and head down the mountain. I do not want Deimos to decide that Vanya didn't accomplish his task therefore he needs to address it himself."

"Where are we going?" Evander asked even though he already knew.

There was a very petty part of him that wanted to force Marcos to say it.

He sighed, in the middle of folding up blankets, but did not glance up.

"Beaulieu," he said. "We're going back to Beaulieu."