20

After dinner, Cyrus followed Greyson out to the private deck behind the headman's house. The air was crisp, and a low roar from the crashing waves resounded in his ears. Greyson stood next to a large brazier; flames twisted and twined within the iron, gleaming in the darkness. His expression appeared drawn as the shadows made his hollow cheeks appear gaunt. Greyson hadn't said a word during dinner, which was awkward enough, but he wouldn't even look at Cyrus.

Straightening his spine, he strode toward Greyson. When Cyrus reached his side, Greyson shifted a few steps to the side. Frustration welled within him, making his hands curl into fists. He truly didn't understand. Sometimes it seemed like Greyson wanted to be with him, and others, it felt like he couldn't get far enough away.

"Greyson," he started, determined to get at least one answer.

"You should go inside, it's cold."

"Greyson."

"Maybe we both should go inside," Greyson said, moving toward the door.

He stalked after Greyson. Before he could go inside, Cyrus pushed him against the side of the house. Greyson tried to slide left, but he raised an arm barring his escape. He lifted his other hand, planted it firmly on the wall, and trapped Greyson.

"Stop running."

Greyson's pulse boomed in his ears as he stared at Cyrus, whose jaw was clenched while his eyebrows pulled together to form a slash across his forehead. He recognized the expression, as Cyrus often wore it when he was mad.

"I'm not," he lied.

Cyrus banged the wall with a fist. "You are. You never answer any important questions, and anytime we get close, you flee. I cannot take it anymore."

"What do you mean?" Greyson asked, numbness spreading down his limbs. Was Cyrus going to leave? He didn't want that. Cyrus had invaded every aspect of his solitude, and Greyson did not know how he could go back to before.

"I need to know. Do you like me? Do you not like me? Do you want to be together? Do you want me to leave you alone? You're switching from hot to cold so quickly I can't keep up. I know there are things you're not telling me. I just need you to be honest about one thing. I know nothing here. I just need one true thing to hold onto. Just one."

Greyson stared at Cyrus—a man he used to hate. Glassy eyed, Cyrus stared at him while his muscular arms tensed. Greyson couldn't imagine not remembering anything. How confused Cyrus must be, and he had not helped. Of course, in the beginning, Greyson hadn't thought it would matter. Now, the lies had piled up, burying him. It was not only the lies, though. Their history of animosity was like a wall between them. How could he ever cross it?

"Greyson," Cyrus whispered. His lyrical voice slid over Greyson's ears and made him shiver. "Please, tell me the truth."

One brick at a time, Greyson thought. He realized he wanted to climb that wall, or rather, tear it apart because he wanted Cyrus. No matter what had happened between them, he wanted Cyrus.

"The truth is," Greyson said, cupping his cheeks, "I love you."

Cyrus' mouth opened and closed like he searched for the words to say. Greyson did not bother to let him respond and captured his lips. Cyrus shoved him into the wall and gripped the front of his shirt, lips moving frantically. Greyson clutched Cyrus' face, matching his urgent pace. It felt like time had stopped as the sound of the ocean and the fire disappeared. All Greyson could pay attention to was the softness of Cyrus' lips and the thundering of his heart.

Sliding his fingers into Cyrus' golden-blonde hair, Greyson moaned. Cyrus' tongue flicked out and grazed his. Deepening the kiss, Greyson hooked an arm about Cyrus' waist and yanked him as close as possible; their hips pressed together, igniting even more sensations.

He could have never guessed that this is where life would take him, but Greyson was perfectly fine with this outcome.

Cyrus wrapped both of his arms around Greyson's neck and leaned against him. The passion softened as he kissed Cyrus, slowly, fully, and gently. Greyson trailed away from Cyrus' lips as he brushed kisses along Cyrus' jaw and cheekbones, then over his eyes. Greyson wanted to kiss every inch of him. At that thought, heat raced to a certain part of his body and made him jerk back, his head hitting the wall with a thunk.

"Don't go," Cyrus whispered, voice husky.

"I'm not going anywhere. I just need air."

Chuckling breathlessly, Cyrus nuzzled his face against Greyson's neck. "You love me."

"Yes." Greyson clasped his hands behind Cyrus' back. "I love you."

"I don't know why that surprises me so much, but it does."

"Well, I should hope so. It shocked me."

Cyrus said, "I love you too."

Something clenched in his chest as the backs of his eyes burned. Greyson placed a slow kiss on Cyrus' lips. "I could have never guessed I would ever hear those words out of your mouth."

"It's the truth." Cyrus' expression was so serious, it made him appear like his old self.

Brushing the tip of his nose along the edge of Cyrus' nose, Greyson replied, "I believe you."

"Go to sleep," Greyson said as he cradled Cyrus against his chest.

"One more question," he pleaded. Cyrus couldn't stop staring at Greyson in the dim firelight. He loves me, Cyrus thought for the thousandth time.

"No," Greyson snapped. While his tone was harsh, his touch remained gentle on his back.

"Please," he begged quietly.

Greyson scowled, which made him grin. Leaning forward, Cyrus pressed a kiss between his scrunched eyebrows. Greyson groaned. "Tomorrow. Go to sleep for now."

"Fine," Cyrus said. After a long pause, he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too."

The fire crackled and sent out waves of warmth. Occasionally, smoke would waft out of the fireplace and sting his eyes as the wind howled outside. But he just burrowed closer to Greyson. Safe.

Eventually, Greyson"s breath evened into slumber. Cyrus brushed his fingertips over Greyson's eyelashes, which fluttered.

"You're lying to me, aren't you?"

Greyson grunted in his sleep, shifting. Cyrus rubbed his back.

Cyrus asked quietly, "We were never friends, were we?"

Greyson, of course, did not answer. Cyrus stroked Greyson's hair, then snuggled against him. "It's okay," he whispered. "I don't want to be your friend anyway."

A low cry pierced the air. Greyson's eyes shot open. The room was dark, barely lit up by the coals in the fireplace. His brow furrowed as he glanced around, having a hard time seeing. His hand stretched out and connected with an empty bedroll. Cyrus must have rolled away from him. Squinting, he peered around the room, trying to discern what the shadowed blobs were. Some distance in front of him was a long shape—Cyrus, he assumed.

Another whimper sounded. Frowning, Greyson scooted closer. Cyrus' face was pinched and sweat dotted his forehead. Cyrus moaned, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Cyrus, you're alright."

Cyrus cried again. Greyson rolled him over and brushed his cheek. His sky-blue eyes popped open, then his face scrunched in obvious confusion.

"You're okay," Greyson said.

"I was dreaming."

"About what?"

"About you. I was arguing with someone about you. I remember crying," Cyrus said.

He stroked Cyrus' cheek, wiping the tears. "It's okay."

"You were in danger."

"I'm fine." Greyson shifted onto the bedrolls and folded Cyrus into his arms. Settling Cyrus against his chest, Greyson held him close. "It's all fine. Go to sleep."

Arms tightened around his back as Cyrus pressed his face into his chest. Greyson rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. "I won't let anyone hurt you," Cyrus said, squeezing him.

Greyson swallowed as sudden emotion clogged his throat. Cyrus held him even tighter, almost hurting him. Greyson hugged him back, wiggling. "I'm okay, Cyrus."

Cyrus would not loosen his hold no matter how much Greyson patted his back. He winced. "Cyrus, you"re hurting me."

Slowly, Cyrus relaxed his grip. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he said, rubbing his face against Cyrus' blonde hair. "Go to sleep. I'm right here."

"I'll keep you safe."

"I know."

Greyson scowled as he tugged the cloak tighter around Cyrus. "Why do you even want to go?"

Cyrus shrugged. "It seems like fun."

Last night, he confessed his feelings. He had a hard time believing it, but the evidence was in his hands. They had not slept much afterward because Cyrus had a nightmare. Cyrus had clung to him, but Greyson had been unable to soothe him into more than a light doze. Now, Cyrus wanted to go traipsing around, not rested, and without him. Greyson gripped the fur-lined cloak, pulling Cyrus closer, unwilling to let him go.

"Are you sure?" Greyson asked.

"It's only fishing."

"On the freezing ocean, and you don't handle the cold," he snapped. Cyrus raised his eyebrows. Greyson frowned. "You won't fall in the water?"

"I'm not a kid."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Everything in him wanted to keep Cyrus close, which was ridiculous because he could take care of himself. "It's not like I can stop you."

"You're the one who doesn't want me to go with you as you talk to people and gather supplies."

That morning, Greyson had decided not to travel back through the villages. He did not want to repeat what happened with the woman who called Cyrus a murderer. The other way home was shorter and crossed over much rougher terrain, but it was better than risking someone upsetting Cyrus.

Also, he had to chat with people about the possibility of a necromancer. Greyson thought it would be easier to get people to talk if Cyrus was not with him. Not to mention, he didn't want someone to utter something they shouldn't. He was not quite ready for the truth to come out and what it would do to his and Cyrus' relationship.

"Well, be careful."

Cyrus drew him down for a simple kiss, but Greyson dragged him flush against his chest. They had an audience, yet he didn't care in the slightest. He nibbled Cyrus' bottom lip before backing up and caressing his blushing cheek.

"I'll be waiting for you."

"He's not going off to war," Charles called loudly. "He's fishing. He'll be back in a few hours." Charles tossed his grandson, who gawked at them, over his shoulder and stepped onto a boat.

Julia smirked. "I'll keep your boyfriend safe."

"You were always my favorite student for a reason."

"You know," Charles said from the boat, "I like you a lot better now."

Greyson remarked, "All it took was for your daughter to be married to someone else."

"Yep."

Tugging on Cyrus' cloak, Greyson said, "I'll see you later."

"See you in a few hours." Cyrus waved as he hopped onto the boat. Greyson watched him until they disappeared.

Victoria moved to his side, holding Ruth's hand. "They'll be back."

"I know, but I don't have to like it."

Less than a day together and he didn't want to let Cyrus out of his sight. Not a good sign. He needed to get a hold of himself. With a shake of his head, he shifted toward the woman. Ruth pressed against her mother's side, hiding. He tilted his head to the side as he shifted closer to the child.

Crouching, he held out his hand. "Let me see you."

Ruth pressed into her mother's side, chewing on her finger. Greyson gently tugged her closer so he could see her face. Something about her spoke to him, making his magic tingle under his skin. He lifted his staff and twisted his wrist to the left, the blue stone glowing with the movement. The little girl pulled her finger from her mouth and reached toward his staff. A simple testing spell coiled around Ruth, glowing brightly.

"You are very blessed."

"She has magic?" Victoria asked, eyebrows raising.

"Yes. Ruth is very powerful."

Her face fell. "What are we going to do?"

Standing, he said, "Don't worry. I'll train her."

"How will we find an artifact?"

That was an issue. Artifacts were not easy to come by, and no one in the Griseo Mountains crafted them, not anymore. Before the Zaesian Empire conquered them a few hundred years ago, they made them. But after they were conquered, the empire would not allow them to create artifacts, so the knowledge had been lost.

Once bonded, a mage couldn't pick a new artifact. That was the reason his mother held off binding him to one. It wasn't until he reached the capital at nineteen that he received one—the staff. It came flying out of the royal treasury. Ancient artifacts had a mind of their own. His gaze shifted to the little girl with waves of power coming off her.

"I might have something," he said, rubbing his chin. "Next summer, bring her to see me. My mother's ring may choose her. If not, I'll figure something out."

"Do you think it will work?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "My mother's ring is ancient. It chooses the mage, not the other way around."

"I'll talk to Julia, but I imagine she'll agree. My wife loved you and your mother teaching her," Victoria said, shaking her daughter's hand.

"She is my favorite student and my close friend," Greyson said. Looking at the little girl, he said, "I think I'll enjoy teaching you too, little Ruth."

"That's if Julia and I can convince her father to let us move to your village for a while."

"Have fun with that," Greyson remarked.

Training Ruth would take a few years, and Charles loved his only child immensely. Julia had come and visited every summer when she was younger, but Greyson doubted she would want to do the same and leave Ruth in his and Widow Abney's care for a couple of months each year.

Greyson had been teaching people since his mother died when he was fourteen, even before he was bound to an artifact. That was how desperate people were for a magic teacher. But being a teacher is what made him so beloved in the Griseo Mountains. That and how powerful he was.

"Yeah," Victoria grunted. "Come on, Ruth."

The little girl smiled, giving a wave before she left with her mother.