23

Greyson skimmed the letter, gaze roving over the ridiculously neat script. Frederick had come through as expected.

Greyson,

I urge caution. About six months ago, I heard whispers from the royal family, mainly Empress Quinn and Crown Princess Jade, urging Cyrus to finish what he started. That if he could not get over it, it was better to push forward. The prince did not say anything, at least to my knowledge, but he has been seen moping around the capital.

Many say he misses the war and regrets not destroying us. I don't know if that is true or not. I hope not, for the Griseo Mountains could not withstand another attack.

Finally, about eight weeks before I received your letter, I overheard Emperor Caspian yelling at Cyrus. I did not hear the whole argument, though it sounded heated, but I do recall hearing the emperor shout, "He'll probably kill you, but if that's what you want to do, I'm not going to stop you."

I suspect Prince Cyrus has traveled to the Griseo Mountains to kill you. Everyone knows of your animosity. Please be careful, my friend. Cyrus is not an opponent to underestimate. If you could manage to not slay him, that would probably be best for our people, for the emperor loves him dearly.

I was going to send the above by itself, but today I overheard something else. The emperor is worried that he has not heard from Prince Cyrus. He was sending regular letters to his cousin and aunt, but they stopped. The emperor is planning on sending someone out to search for him.

Greyson, if you are holding Prince Cyrus captive, let him go or it could prove deadly for our people. If the prince has met his demise, make sure you or none of our people can be implicated. His body can always be disposed of to the wolves or in a sunken mine shaft. Take care of it and make sure to burn this letter.

Frederick.

Greyson shook his head in amusement, leaning against the kitchen counter. Of course, Frederick assumed he'd killed Cyrus. That had been the original plan.

So Cyrus had left the capital to do something important, most likely kill him. Could he long to finish what he'd started with the people of the Griseo Mountains? It was possible, but Greyson did not think so. Cyrus had argued for their freedom. Why would Cyrus change his mind so easily?

Could Cyrus have left the capital to kill Greyson? That was a possibility. The old Cyrus bore no love for him. All it would take was a couple of falsified reports of Greyson causing trouble, and Cyrus might feel obligated to kill him.

"What are you reading?"

He started. Cyrus had come in so quietly that he hadn't noticed. Cyrus had left a while ago to help Widow Abney with something.

"What are you reading?" Cyrus asked again.

"A letter from my friend in the capital."

Cyrus immediately reached for it, and Greyson held the piece of paper high in the air. Cyrus kept trying to snatch it, pulling on Greyson's shoulder, but to no avail. He was five inches taller than Cyrus.

Finally, Cyrus stopped. "Your boyfriend wrote you back, didn't he?"

A laugh broke out of his lips as he brought the missive down. "No. Frederick, my married friend and student, wrote me back."

"So you're not cheating on me?" Cyrus asked, grinning.

He pursed his lips as he pretended to think about it. "Hmm. I don't think so."

Cyrus wrapped his arms around Greyson's neck, heedless of the letter. "Good."

Greyson pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, but he couldn't stop his arms from instinctively gathering Cyrus against his chest. Quickly, the movement changed from soft to passionate. Once his skin felt flushed and he kept tugging on Cyrus' clothes, frustrated, he shifted away, eliciting an annoyed mutter from Cyrus.

"Your friend didn't happen to mention how very single and unmarried I am, did he?"

"I think that would have been the first thing I said."

"Too bad." Cyrus sat in a chair and read the letter while his expression remained casual. Greyson watched Cyrus, content, as he sipped his cup of tea. When Cyrus reached the end of Frederick's letter, he paused. "Would you have disposed of my body to the wolves or in a mine shaft if you'd killed me?"

"No. Mage fire. I would have burnt you to ash, then dumped your ashes in the river."

"Efficient."

"I thought so."

Returning to the letter, apparently skimming it again, Cyrus asked, "What's this important thing I was going to do?"

"Maybe kill me?"

"No."

Pushing off the counter, he joined him at the table. "Do you remember?"

"No," Cyrus said as his face twisted in thought. "It's right on the edge of my memory. I know it was important, but I can't remember. I have a few random memories. You are much younger and staring at me in a fancy room." Cyrus rubbed his temples. "You're in a dingy room, asleep on a cot. It was dark and I'd been crying, fighting with someone. A man who looks similar to me. Two women, one much older than the other. Then the glade when I was injured and running to you because you were in danger."

He pried Cyrus' hands from his face. "Are you in pain?"

"When I try to remember, my head starts to hurt."

"It's okay. You don't have to remember right now."

"I don't think I came here to kill you, Greyson. I was coming to you for a reason, though. I wish I knew what it was. And I wish I knew what danger lurked around you."

"I'll be fine," he said, stroking his cheek.

"What are we going to do?"

Greyson knew what they had to do, he just didn't want to. "The emperor is worried about you and is going to send someone to search for you. We have to go to Lord Darius. We can't put the Griseo Mountains in danger because I don't want you to leave."

"I don't want to leave either." Cyrus leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Greyson.

"I know," he said, hand on Cyrus' thigh. "We'll prove to Lord Darius that you're alive and send a letter to the emperor, then we'll go from there."

"I'm not going to leave you, Greyson."

"I will always be here for you, Cyrus."

"Aren't those the berries you were going to kill me with?" he asked. The red berries, wrinkled and withered, hung on a branch with dried leaves. Their bright color contrasted against the clean snow that surrounded the cabin, almost looking like drops of blood.

"Yes," Greyson replied, his tone crisp. Cyrus opened his mouth, but Greyson scowled at him, silencing another question, then went back to work. He hauled a stone mortar and pestle from the shed right behind the cabin. It was not the same one Greyson kept in the house. He donned a pair of gloves, then picked the dried berries off the twig and placed them into the mortar. "Stay back. These are much more poisonous when dried."

Cyrus obliged but snorted at the caution. If Greyson was fine crouching right over the berries, Cyrus would be fine standing next to him. Greyson slowly ground the berries, using steady circular motions with the pestle. When they were nothing but a fine, red powder, he poured them into a glass bottle, then shoved a cork in the top.

Shivering in the cold air, Cyrus asked, "Are you almost done?"

"I didn't make you leave the house, you chose to," Greyson said, not even glancing at him. He started a small fire before placing wax in a copper spoon, then held it over the flames. Once it melted, Greyson poured it over the cork and top of the bottle, sealing it.

Kicking snow over the flames, Greyson returned the mortar and pestle to the shed along with the gloves. Cyrus reached for Greyson, but he skittered out of range. "Let me wash my hands thoroughly first. I don't want any chance of contamination."

Greyson repeatedly cleaned his hands, the bottle, and the pump with a bar of soap. By the time he finished, his fingers had turned cherry red. When Greyson approached, Cyrus hooked an arm about his waist and led him toward the house. As soon as they were inside, he led Greyson to the fire, then took his frozen hands. Cyrus held them, chafing them, before he tugged his shirt up and tucked Greyson's hands against his bare skin.

"What are you doing?" Greyson asked.

"Making sure your hands warm up."

A smile stretched over Greyson's lips as he looked down, but not fast enough because Cyrus caught a glimpse of pink staining his cheeks. He swore Greyson blushing was the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

"So," Cyrus asked, "are we poisoning someone?"

"No, unfortunately not. These berries are rare, very rare, and therefore expensive. I know where they grow. Not many people take the risk to dry and grind them, but I do, occasionally. I'm planning on bribing Lord Darius with them. Though he'll probably kill me with the powder, it could help us stay together, at least until the emperor writes back."

"Are you in danger?" he asked, breathless. The thought of Greyson dying caused him physical pain. Cyrus couldn't even contemplate it.

Greyson scooted closer. "No. I promise. I've done this before, many times, and I'm very careful."

"That's not what I meant. Are you in danger from Lord Darius?"

"I'll be fine," Greyson said.

Cyrus wanted to argue, but instead, he asked, "When are we leaving?" He didn't want to go to Woodhurst, but Greyson was right. They couldn't endanger people because they didn't want to separate.

"I'll need a couple of days to gather more supplies. I swear I haven't traveled this much in the winter in a long time."

He didn't possess many memories of Greyson nor did he have much time to reflect on, but Cyrus felt like he'd known Greyson forever. He couldn't imagine living apart from him, not now. "I love you."

Another smile crossed his lips. This time, though, Greyson did not hide his face. "I love you too. It'll all be okay."

"How do you know?"

"I don't," Greyson replied, leaning closer. "But against all odds, we found each other, so it has to work out."

"I suppose it does."