10

His eyes opened, and needles immediately stabbed his head, making him close them. Even through his eyelids, the room was too bright. His muscles ached as if he'd run for miles. He hated overpowering spells. If it didn't knock him out, it always gave him a throbbing, unrelenting headache.

It had not been that long since he'd found Cyrus, and already it was taking a toll on Greyson. He constantly sighed. His solitude had been destroyed. And now, he'd overpowered a spell to save Cyrus' worthless life. What had Greyson's life come to?

Cyrus coming into his life was clearly a mistake, and now, he didn't even have the consolation of killing him at the end of it.

Greyson winced at the bright light filtering in from the windows. He could not tell the time of day, but from the amount of light, he assumed late afternoon. His gaze roved over the room but stopped when it landed on Cyrus, who was next to him, asleep.

Cyrus' mouth hung open and soft snores escaped. His blonde hair had fallen over his forehead. Unable to stop himself, Greyson brushed the silky-smooth locks back. For the first time in his life, he truly studied Cyrus' features from his golden-blonde hair, warm brown skin that was the same shade as sand, square jaw, and full lips. Cyrus reminded Greyson of the summer—warm and bright.

All of sudden, Cyrus snapped his mouth closed as his face scrunched. Muscular arms going above his head, he arched his back and yawned. The second his gaze landed on Greyson, a smile pulled on his lips. Cyrus cupped his cheeks. Heat seeped into Greyson's skin from the contact and made him swallow.

"You scared me," Cyrus said, shaking Greyson's face between his calloused palms.

"I scared you? You climbed on a building and fell off, nearly killing yourself."

"I would've been alright."

Greyson ignored the comment and stood, slowly. His knees trembled and his breath became shallow. Cyrus instantly came to his side and grabbed him around the waist, supporting him. Greyson wanted to shove Cyrus back but didn't. He was not used to people helping or caring for him. He'd been alone for a long time.

"Where's my staff?" he asked suddenly, frantically searching as his pulse thundered in his ears.

"Over there." Cyrus gestured to the corner near the fireplace. His staff, along with Cyrus' sword, leaned against the wall. "I kept it safe for you."

"Thank you." For a moment, Greyson imagined the worst. His staff broken in two. Powerless.

Cyrus squeezed him, drawing Greyson back to the present. "Where do you need to go?"

"Outhouse."

When they returned, Greyson sank into a chair by the table. Everything ached, but the second he sat, relief seeped into him.

Cyrus crouched, hand on Greyson's knee, as his eyebrows scrunched together. "Do you need anything?"

"Tea would be nice."

With a smile, Cyrus strode across the room and put a kettle on the flames. Greyson leaned back in the chair, shoulders slumping. He would feel better in the morning, but it would take a couple of days before he completely healed.

I'm out of practice, Greyson thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

When the rebellion waged, and before it, he used to be able to cast spell after spell, even when he was exhausted, hungry, and injured. Now, he hardly ever used it, except when he taught.

A rattling followed by a quiet thunk sounded just before Cyrus nudged the teapot closer to him. Greyson waited for the tea to steep before pouring himself a cup. He glanced at Cyrus, who sat across from him, chin in his palm, watching him.

"You know you might like tea with a bit of cream and sugar. I don't usually use either because they're expensive, but when we get back, you can try it," Greyson said, taking a sip of the warm tea. His body relaxed as the heat seeped into his aching muscles. Tea fixed everything.

"It's okay. I don't mind not drinking it."

"You should at least try it."

"Okay," Cyrus said with a shrug.

Greyson had no idea why he was so insistent on Cyrus trying tea a different way, but it felt like a shame if he couldn't get him to like it. Besides, he didn't want to drink tea with Cyrus staring at him. If they both enjoyed it, then they could both drink it, and Greyson would not feel awkward. He might sacrifice his original plan of killing Cyrus, but he would not give up tea.

"How long will it take for you to recover?" Cyrus asked.

"I'll be fine to travel home tomorrow morning."

Cyrus stretched across the table, his touch light. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Greyson ground out as he slid out of his grasp. His fingers oddly tingled.

"I just want to make sure," Cyrus whispered, staring at the table.

He fought back a sigh. He hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. Scowling, Greyson patted Cyrus' hand roughly. "Sorry."

Cyrus' wide fingers closed around his hand. "It's okay."

Clearing his throat, Greyson withdrew from his touch, then drank his tea.

Cyrus sat at the table, head in his hands, watching Greyson as he made breakfast. Elizabeth was near him, leaning against the counter, but Cyrus studiously ignored her. He followed Greyson's every movement as he thought back to sleeping next to him. It felt secure and safe next to Greyson.

Greyson said, drawing Cyrus out of his reverie, "I'm making hotcakes for breakfast."

"My favorite," Cyrus said with a smile.

"Yes," Greyson said with a scowl, which only made Cyrus smile broader.

After a bit, Elizabeth pushed away from the counter to hang a kettle above the flames. It seemed like everyone in the Griseo Mountains loved tea. He personally didn't see the appeal of hot, bitter leaf juice, but if it made Greyson happy, it made him happy.

She came to Greyson's side and stared directly at Cyrus before winding her arm around Greyson, who did not react. Cyrus, on the other hand, started to stand before he controlled the motion, sinking back into the chair. Elizabeth smirked, then retrieved the kettle before sitting across from him.

After a silent breakfast, in which he spent the entire time glaring at Elizabeth, Cyrus packed their bags while Greyson cleaned the dishes. He shoved their bedrolls and blankets into the sacks, then leaned back on his heels as he searched the room to make sure they didn't leave anything behind. All that remained were his sword and Greyson's staff, which leaned against the wall next to each other.

"Are you ready?" Greyson asked from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder at Greyson who wiped his hands on a towel. "Yes."

Cyrus strapped on his sword, flung a bag over his shoulder, then picked up the staff. It vibrated beneath his fingers, alive. When he turned around, he saw Greyson's eyebrows were a slash across his forehead as he focused on the staff. His breathing was harsh bursts and his hands had curled into tight fists. Cyrus slowly stepped toward him, holding it out. With trembling fingers, Greyson accepted it, clutching the staff to his chest. Cyrus didn't know what was wrong or what to say, so he remained quiet.

"Thank you," Greyson said, eventually.

"Of course." Cyrus picked up the other pack and held it out. Greyson took it and slung it over his shoulder before striding out of the house. Cyrus followed, more than ready to go home.

Greyson walked into the chilly morning air, breath coming out in a cloud. His heart beat against his ribs as he squeezed the staff in a white-knuckled grip, wood digging into his palm. When he saw Cyrus holding it, a terrible vision of the warrior snapping it in half and leaving him helpless raced across his mind's eye. The panic lingered, even though nothing had happened. Cyrus had no reason to break the staff, as he didn't remember the animosity between them. Greyson clenched it again, magic zinging beneath his palm, and took a deep breath.

Chickens clucked as they wandered through the village, scratching the dirt. In the distance, people tended the fields, readying them for winter, while fishers carried nets toward the stream. Greyson greeted several different people, some he knew better than others, as he searched for Elizabeth. He wanted to say goodbye before leaving.

A touch on his arm stopped him. Greyson looked to his left, and Cyrus said, "I want to say goodbye to the kids."

"Fine."

Cyrus jogged toward the group of teenagers next to the half-built building, who waved excitedly at him. As the group talked animatedly, Elizabeth hooked an arm through his, startling Greyson. "You're leaving us?"

"Yes," Greyson said, trying to calm his racing pulse. When people walked up on his right side, he couldn't see them. Even all these years later, it startled him when people suddenly appeared as if out of thin air.

"You should be careful around Cyrus."

"What do you mean?" Greyson shifted in her direction so he could see her face.

"I think he likes you."

Scoffing, he replied, "He thinks we're friends; of course, he likes me."

"Not like that."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not. You're attractive enough and you're all he knows."

Greyson did not bother to respond as he looked at Cyrus, who'd stopped talking to the kids and watched them. He would not deny that Cyrus was attractive, not that he'd ever thought that before. Greyson paused, mouth opening a fraction, as he realized he'd never thought of another man as attractive before now. But it did not matter, there was nothing between Cyrus and him. There never had been.

"You want to test my theory?" Elizabeth asked, eyebrows raised.

Before he could respond, she clamped onto the back of his neck and yanked his face to hers. Eyes widening, Greyson froze. His stomach twisted. He'd never kissed her nor had he ever wanted to. Jerking out of her grasp, Greyson wiped his mouth off, swallowing convulsively. He opened his mouth to shout at her when Elizabeth nodded in Cyrus' direction. Unwillingly, his gaze shifted to Cyrus who wore a thunderous expression as he stalked toward them.

"I told you," she said in a sing-song voice. Elizabeth raised a single eyebrow, then sauntered toward her house, whistling.

Cyrus nudged his left arm. "What was that about?"

"Nothing. Let's go." Greyson strode toward the trees, thoughts whirling. He'd seemed upset, but Greyson did not want to believe what Elizabeth said or Cyrus' obvious anger. It had to be for another reason.

"Hey," Cyrus called.

"What?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Are you alright?"

Greyson scratched his cheek, replaying the incident. There had to be some way that he could have avoided it. He shook his head. This wasn't his fault, and why should he feel guilty? Elizabeth shouldn't have done that.

"I'm fine," Greyson said after a bit, ignoring the hard lump in his stomach. "Elizabeth was joking around. There's nothing going on between us."

"Really?"

"Yes," he ground out. "Elizabeth is still in love with her husband who died last year."

"Oh." When Greyson didn't say anything else, Cyrus entwined his arm with Greyson's and started toward the treeline. "Let's go home."