16

Appearing like magic, a village emerged as they crested a hill. About a dozen homes that were built from wood stood in a glen, ringed around a simple, stone well; the others were carved right into the side of Validus Peak. The rocky ground was sparse with greenery, only boasting a few scraggly, brown weeds. Chickens clucked in coops near the homes, and goats munched on the few offerings.

"Stay close," Greyson said.

He wanted to take Greyson's left arm but didn't. "Why?"

"People here in Cliffside are not used to strangers."

"How would they know I'm a stranger?"

Greyson didn't respond, rolling his eyes, as he started forward. Cyrus followed him, gaze wandering over the people. They all wore unadorned, sturdy clothes. Everyone had the same aspect as Greyson—dark hair and pale, gray-tinged skin. There were not too many people in the village proper, as it was the middle of the day.

As soon as they got closer, the townspeople stopped whatever they were doing and gaped at him. Greyson stepped in front of Cyrus, blocking him from view. Cyrus gripped his sword. He didn't care who these people were, he wouldn't let anyone hurt Greyson.

A man with light brown hair, green eyes, and a square jaw approached. "Greyson," he said in a pleasant voice. He dragged Greyson into a hug, slapping his back a couple of times.

Cyrus struggled to breathe while a dark emotion coiled in his stomach like a snake about to strike. He wanted to rip the newcomer's arms from Greyson.

The new man's gaze landed on Cyrus, and his expression cooled. "What is he doing here?" he asked with an arm draped across Greyson's shoulders. He was maybe an inch taller than Greyson and several inches taller than Cyrus.

Before Cyrus could respond, Greyson shielded him from Liam. "He doesn't remember, Liam."

"What?" Liam asked.

"I lost my memory. A mage erased it," Cyrus replied as he moved to stand by Greyson's left side.

"So? Why are you here?" Liam crossed his arms.

"It's a long story," Greyson said. "We're on our way to the coast. I was hoping you'd let us stay with you."

Liam glared at Cyrus for several moments. "Fine. Keep him close so someone doesn't kill him."

Cyrus glanced at Greyson. "What's going on?"

His gaze darted to the side. "Nothing." Greyson reached across his body with his right hand and squeezed Cyrus' fingers. "Stay close to me."

"You will tell me later, right?"

Greyson merely said, "Let's go."

A heavy tension hung in the air. Liam sat on one side of the table, glaring at Cyrus, while Cyrus crossed his arms and glowered. Greyson had no idea why Cyrus instantly disliked Liam, but he had.

Glancing between them, Greyson said, "I should make a pot of tea."

"Good idea. I always wanted to have tea with Cyrus," Liam said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

This was a very bad idea, Greyson thought. The people of Drakcombe trusted him as did the people of Creekside, so they didn't say anything or do much more than glare at Cyrus. Here? Greyson did not have the same assurances. Though he was well-respected and beloved throughout the Griseo Mountains since he took over for his mother as a teacher, Cyrus' presence tested his people's faith in him.

The truth would come out eventually, and he didn't know what to do.

"Tea would be good," Cyrus said.

"I can make it." Greyson started to stand, but Liam waved him off, getting to his feet.

Cyrus placed a hand on his thigh, whispering, "What's going on?"

"Liam doesn"t like you. I didn't think it would be a problem," he answered. It was the truth but not the complete truth.

"Did you two used to court or something?"

"No," Greyson said, brow furrowing. "I taught him magic, like many many others. Besides, I've only courted a couple of people."

"Ah." A quick smile appeared and vanished so quickly on Cyrus' lips that Greyson couldn't be sure he'd actually seen it. Cyrus asked, "Why doesn't he like me, then?"

"It's complicated."

With a deep frown, Cyrus stared at him. Greyson swallowed. Cyrus was going to figure it out.

After several minutes, Liam returned, carrying a tray with a teapot and three teacups, then poured each of them a cup. Greyson opened his mouth to say Cyrus didn't like tea when Cyrus grabbed his leg, silencing him.

As they drank their tea, Liam and Cyrus glared at each other. Greyson wanted to say something, but he didn't want to say the wrong thing or start a fight. Once they finished, Liam asked, "Can I speak with you alone?"

Cyrus clamped down on his knee, expression darkening. Greyson peeled his fingers off. "Yes. Let's go outside." Greyson leaned toward Cyrus. "I will be right back."

"I'll be right here if you need me."

"Liam is my friend. Everything is fine."

"If you say so," Cyrus replied.

Greyson hovered near the table, staring at Cyrus—the serious mask plastered on his face was familiar. Cyrus appeared like his old self. This same expression had been on his face every time Greyson and the spokesperson, Charlotte Williams, met with the emperor. Cyrus would stand behind his uncle, arms crossed, with this same blank mask. Shaking his head, Greyson cleared the dual image before going outside.

Liam had not gone far, pacing right in front of his home, his boots crunching on the loose stones. He was quite different from most people of the Griseo Mountains with his light brown hair, bright green eyes, and tan skin. His mother came from the capital and gave Liam his coloring.

"Are you insane?" Liam asked.

Unable to stop himself, Greyson laughed.

"What?"

"Elizabeth asked me the same thing when I brought Cyrus to Creekside."

"Well, the question bears repeating. Why do you have Prince Cyrus with you?"

The story slipped from his lips—a pared-down version. Greyson had no intention of telling his friend about the kisses he and Cyrus had shared. Liam listened, not commenting.

When Greyson stopped talking, Liam said, "You should've let him die, Greyson."

"It's too late now."

"Yes," Liam bit back. "You paraded him around, so now if he dies, the emperor will blame us."

Greyson said, "I need to find out why he's here, and to do that, Cyrus needs to regain his memory."

"And you think Davies is going to help you?"

There was only one village along the icy coast, and Charles Davies was the headman. "I don't know, but Elizabeth theorized that a necromancer may have erased Cyrus' memories."

"Why?"

"Because he woke up in the glade."

Liam nodded, understanding. "And of course, the Davies have produced more necromancers than anyone else."

"Yes."

"This is a bad plan," Liam said. "Just give him to the representative, and he'll take Prince Cyrus to the capital and out of our hair."

His breath rushed out as if someone had punched him in the gut. He did not want to separate from Cyrus, not yet. Greyson had started to get used to his presence. Clearing his throat, Greyson said, "I need to know."

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"You won't tell him anything?"

"What do you mean?" Liam asked.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Greyson said, "I lied and told him that we were friends."

Liam started laughing, shaking his head. "It's not going to take much to shatter that lie."

"I know. And when Cyrus remembers, hopefully, he won't kill me."

Cyrus glared at the closed door. He wanted to charge into the cold air and keep Liam away from Greyson. Thoughts of punching Liam in his perfect face made Cyrus grin. He shook his head to banish the violent images. Greyson said it was fine, and Cyrus had to believe him.

Dread curled in his stomach. Liam obviously hated him, and Cyrus didn't want him to sway Greyson. It also didn't help that Liam was attractive. While Liam and Greyson hadn't courted in the past, things changed. Cyrus snorted. Currently, he was attempting to change his and Greyson's relationship.

He examined the space, searching for a flaw. Begrudgingly, Cyrus had to admit the home was cozy with its stone fireplace, wood mantle adorned with trinkets, round rag rug, and couch with a knitted blanket. A single bookshelf graced the wall to the right of the door, bursting with books. A basic kitchen with light cabinets and stone counters was to the left of the door, and a square table, plus matching chairs, was not far from the kitchen. There was a single door near the fireplace that was closed. Everything was clean and organized, though it resembled pretty much every other home he'd seen here. Thankfully, it was one of the wooden homes on the ground, not on the cliffside. He shuddered at the very thought.

The door opened, and Greyson strode in, alone. Cyrus stood. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Greyson replied slowly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know."

Greyson chuckled.

Stepping closer, he asked, "What's going on?"

"I already told you," Greyson said, looking at the door.

"What is going on?" Cyrus repeated in a hard tone. Greyson didn't say anything, swallowing, which made his long throat bob. Cyrus was almost positive that Greyson was lying to him about something. What exactly, he didn't know.

"Liam said we could stay here for the night."

"Fine."

Greyson and Liam went in and out of the house all day while Cyrus stayed inside, curled up on the couch under a blanket. He tried to follow the first time, but Greyson told him to stay where it was warm. So much for showing him off to people in the hopes of finding the mage who scrubbed his memory.

Once the sun set, they came inside, a smile playing on Greyson's lips as Liam said something. Liam bumped his shoulder, and Greyson grinned. The happy expression tugged on Cyrus' heartstrings.

When they noticed him, Greyson nodded while Liam's expression morphed into something hard and frigid. A sudden tension bloomed, filling the home. The snaps from the fire were the only thing to break the oppressive quiet.

"I can make dinner," Greyson offered, the wood floor creaking as he shifted his weight.

"I'll help you," Cyrus said.

Greyson raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Liam merely scoffed and went into the lone bedroom, closing the door behind him. Greyson said, "Don't mind Liam."

Together, they made a simple soup, which suited him fine. No matter what Greyson cooked, it tasted delicious. Once finished, Cyrus carried it to the table, and Greyson set a thick cloth down to protect the wood from the heat of the pot. Placing it on the table, Cyrus glanced at Greyson, who stared at the closed door.

"I should get Liam." Greyson knocked on the bedroom door. After a moment, he went inside, closing the door behind him.

Arms crossing, Cyrus tried to breathe evenly. He very much doubted he'd ever been more jealous in his entire life, though he couldn't confirm that. Several minutes passed before the door opened again, and Greyson appeared.

"Liam wasn't hungry," Greyson said.

"He really hates me doesn't he?"

"Yes."

They ate in silence. Occasionally, Cyrus would glance at the closed door, but Liam never came out. Once they finished, he said, "I can clean the dishes."

"I can do it. It's fine," Greyson said, standing. After the dishes were cleaned, Greyson set his bedroll across the room from Cyrus. An annoyed grunt came out of his lips.

"What?" Greyson asked.

"Why are you lying so far away?"

"You know why."

"I know, but it's not necessary."

Greyson sat on his bedroll, scowling. Cyrus wanted to run his fingers over it, tracing every aspect of Greyson's lips. Greyson lay down, back facing Cyrus, and broke the moment. He settled on his own bedroll, flames warming him as his view was filled with Greyson's back.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cyrus."

Guilt clogged his throat, choking him. He kept hurting Cyrus; he'd lied and kept lying. Greyson stared at Cyrus, who slept on his stomach, arms sprawled, mouth hanging open, and hair in his face. Unable to stop himself, he brushed the golden strands back.

"Cyrus," he said, voice coming out softer than he intended.

Cyrus' face scrunched, but he didn't wake. Greyson caressed his cheek. He did not understand how his emotions changed so quickly where Cyrus was concerned.

Something shuffled, and he turned his head and froze. Liam leaned against the bedroom door frame, arms crossed. Greyson swallowed, hand falling.

"This is an interesting development."

"Liam." Greyson glared at him. He and Cyrus could not be together, but he refused to let Liam judge him.

"What are you doing?" his former student asked, eyebrows pulling together.

Greyson ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

"This will not end well."

"I know," he whispered, stroking Cyrus' soft hair.

"Well, I warned you."

Scoffing, he said, "You can tell me ‘I told you so' later."

"Not if you're dead," Liam joked, striding out of the house.

His fingers skimmed over Cyrus' cheek and tingles shot up his arm. Cyrus shifted toward his touch, a sleepy smile on his face.

"Greyson," Cyrus muttered.

Could Widow Abney be right? Could the new Cyrus simply be him without the burden of responsibility or memories of the past? Unable to stop himself, Greyson cupped Cyrus' cheek, thumb sliding over his cheekbone. Cyrus grinned.

Greyson shifted back. Whether Widow Abney was right or not didn't change anything. He and Cyrus had too much history that could not be overcome. Also, if Cyrus had his memories, he wouldn't choose this.

Cyrus moved to his knees. In their current positions, they were almost the same height. "What?"

"Nothing."

"That's a lie."

Greyson nodded. "It is."

Cyrus held Greyson's face between his calloused palms. "Tell me."

His gaze darted to Cyrus' lips before shooting back to his eyes. Brow furrowed, Cyrus leaned ever so slightly forward. Shaking his head, Greyson withdrew from his grasp. "We should get ready to leave."

"Alright."