27

The first sense of awareness he had was pain. His head throbbed and his body ached. Cyrus swallowed as he tried to breathe through it, but it didn't lessen. With a narrowed gaze, he inspected his surroundings.

It was a small space. He lay on a bed pressed against the wall. Directly opposite was a tiny kitchen, a window over the sink, and a square, knotty pine table with matching chairs. A stone fireplace, a round woven rug on the floor before it, that burned bright with flames sat on the other wall. There was a lone door with a long window next to it. There was not a single personal item. Nothing.

"Greyson," Cyrus called, even though he was alone.

Frowning, he tried to sit up, and the world immediately spun. His various wounds protested and his head hurt so viciously, he had a hard time seeing. Swearing, Cyrus took a deep breath and waited for the pain to dim. He had to find Greyson and make him explain.

What if it was a dream?

Cyrus had dreamed about Greyson so many times, but they had never felt so real or vivid. He shook his head, regretting the movement as his vision swirled and nausea clawed at his throat.

No. It was real, and he had to speak with him.

He stood and his breath came out in short gasps as his knees trembled. Chilly air wrapped around his naked body, raising gooseflesh. He located a pair of trousers and a shirt he'd never seen before. Painstakingly, he donned the clothes, only to have to sit on a chair halfway through because buzzing filled his ears and black spots danced before his vision.

Once his sight cleared, Cyrus leveraged himself up and trudged to the door, hoping Greyson was right outside. He opened it, and a soldier, not Greyson, was on the stair landing.

"Your highness," the man said, bowing.

"Where is Mage Greyson?"

"He was arrested."

Arrested?What's going on? Swallowing, he ordered, "I want to see him immediately."

"Lord Darius said you lost your memory. We can't follow your orders. I'm sorry, your highness."

"Lost my what?" he asked. Not bothering to let the soldier respond, Cyrus continued, voice deepening, "Lord Darius was mistaken. I demand to see Mage Greyson immediately or there will be hell to pay."

The other man jerked back slightly. Cyrus hadn't quite mastered the "royal voice" as his uncle liked to call it. Despite that, people had a hard time not obeying him.

"Please understand, your highness, you've been sick," the soldier pleaded.

"Either you bring me Mage Greyson or take me to see Lord Darius this instant," Cyrus said coolly.

"I will bring them both here, your highness."

"Excellent."

Bowing, the soldier slunk away to hopefully follow his orders.

The cold air made Cyrus shiver. He wanted to follow the soldier or at least wait outside for the other man to return, but he hadn't found his boots. Barefoot, he stepped into the warm room and sat at the table.

His head throbbed with every beat of his heart. Gingerly, he raised his arms, one shoulder twinging, and massaged his temples to ease the discomfort. It did not help. Minutes passed and no one appeared. Cyrus was about to search for Greyson himself, barefoot or not, when someone rapped on the door.

"Enter," he said.

Lord Darius strolled in followed by two soldiers, who dragged Greyson. He had a black eye, a split lip, his nose had been broken, and he limped badly.

"Cyrus, a pleasure to see you as always. Though to be honest, I'm having a hard time seeing you," Greyson remarked.

He moved as fast as possible toward Greyson, shoving the two soldiers aside. Slowly, Cyrus grabbed his chin. Cyrus expected Greyson to shake him off like he always had in the past, but he didn't.

"Did they do this to you?"

"Yes."

"Lie," Lord Darius spat.

Cyrus whirled around. "So he did it to himself?"

The lord blustered, turning red. Cyrus shook his head. He hated Lord Darius. He'd only been assigned this post because of his inappropriate conduct with the empress. Cyrus had protested against it, but the emperor ruled it a fitting punishment for him.

Looking at Greyson, Cyrus finally noticed the ropes around his wrists. "Knife," he demanded, holding a hand out.

"He's under arrest," Lord Darius protested.

"Knife," Cyrus repeated louder.

A soldier unsheathed a dagger and slapped the hilt into his waiting palm. Cyrus quickly cut through the thick ties, ropes falling to the ground.

"Thanks."

Cyrus swallowed; he'd never heard those words from Greyson before, not even when he'd saved Greyson's life.

After he returned the dagger, Cyrus faced Lord Darius once again. His head pounded, making his vision waiver, but he had to resolve this matter before he could talk to Greyson. "Why is Mage Greyson under arrest?"

"I know you've lost your memories—"

"I've lost nothing."

"Oh, you regained them. Excellent," he said in an insincere voice.

"Why is he under arrest?" he repeated with a slight growl.

"Illegal trafficking and hurting you, your highness."

"Liar. You sniveling coward. You accepted the poison, and the bounty hunters hurt Cyrus, not me," Greyson yelled.

"Poison?" Cyrus asked, perking up. During the war, Greyson had been known for his poison-crafting abilities.

"I confiscated rubrum poison from his person when I arrested Mage Greyson. He was probably going to kill you," Lord Darius said evenly, hands stretching out wide.

Greyson limped forward, anger radiating off of him. "I was alone with Cyrus for almost three months. If I wanted him dead, I could have easily killed him. You accepted that poison as a bribe in front of Cyrus."

Cyrus held out an arm to stop Greyson from getting any closer to Darius or his guards. He expected Greyson to push him out of the way, but he merely stopped. Cyrus glanced between them. He believed Greyson, mostly.

Holding his hand out, Cyrus said, "I want the poison."

"Excuse me?" Lord Darius said.

"I want it. Now. I'm confiscating it in the name of the crown," Cyrus said, wiggling his fingers. He would never let Darius keep something so dangerous.

"I don't have it on me," he said, eyes flicking to the side.

His voice lowered as he ordered, "I want it, Darius. I will follow you to wherever you hid it. It had also better have the wax seal Greyson puts on all his poisons or I'm charging you with murder."

Lord Darius pulled a bottle out of his pocket and handed it over. Cyrus took it, then immediately gave it to Greyson, ignoring Lord Darius' snarl of protest. "Is it sealed?" he asked.

"Yes," Greyson replied, surprising him by giving it back.

"Since it was in your possession and you lied to me, I'm not willing to accept that this belongs to Mage Greyson," Cyrus lied. He had no doubt, whatsoever, that Greyson made the poison.

"He confessed," Lord Darius said.

"I heard he gave it to you as a bribe. Are you confessing?"

The man sputtered.

"I will take that as a no," Cyrus commented. "The matter is dismissed, and you can't hold him."

Lord Darius pointed at Greyson, snarling, "He hurt you."

Cyrus swallowed. That he believed.

"I did not!" Greyson shouted, moving closer. "The bounty hunters hurt him. There are a dozen witnesses."

"Your people. Who would lie for you."

"Not just my people. You soldiers saw it and did nothing," Greyson said.

The lord's mouth fell open as he started to sputter again. Cyrus ignored him and focused on the soldiers. "I want the truth. Did Mage Greyson injure me?"

Both of the soldiers glanced at Lord Darius before one said, "No, your highness. Bounty hunters attacked you, and Greyson, with the help of some villagers, saved your life."

"Lies," Lord Darius snapped, raising his fist to strike the soldier, but he dodged the blow.

"No, it's the truth."

"Lord Darius," Cyrus said, drawing his attention, "that's twice you've lied to me. I do not believe this is the right posting for you. You will be confined to your home until I write to my uncle about a more proper placement."

"Like the tower," Greyson suggested.

Lord Darius' mouth fell open in obvious horror.

"Yes," Cyrus said with a nod. "Some time with the monks on their island, far from everything in silent contemplation, might be what you need."

"I could always kill him," Greyson said. "I think I'd enjoy it."

A chuckle slipped out of his lips. "Not at the moment." Turning to the soldiers, he ordered, "Take Lord Darius home and see that he stays there. I will speak to your captain later."

The soldiers bowed, then one opened the door. "My lord?" he said, waving Darius through it.

As soon as the door closed, Cyrus faced Greyson, then scanned the room. "Where's your staff?"

"Darius took it. I imagine he's snapped in half by now."

He raced to the door, ignoring the pain. Greyson couldn't do magic without the staff. If it broke, he would be powerless.

"Wait!" Cyrus ran down the stairs, clutching the railing as he slid on the frozen steps.

The soldiers halted. Cyrus winced as he strode barefoot across the snow. "Where is Greyson's staff?"

Lord Darius refused to meet his gaze. "Gone."

He grabbed the front of his cloak. "You will procure it or I'm throwing you in whatever hole you locked Greyson into." When he did not respond, Cyrus let him go and continued, "Better yet. Drop him in a mine. I will tell my uncle he wandered in like an idiot. No one will question further."

The guards started to haul him away, and Cyrus steeled his heart. Lord Darius had hurt Greyson and taken his magic. He was willing to kill him if need be.

"Wait," Darius said, trying to wrench his arms free from the soldiers' grasp. "I will give you the staff. I'd rather live with the monks than die."

He followed the lord to his home and secured the staff. As he touched it, power raced up his arm. Cyrus could say, with some certainty, that he'd never held Greyson's staff, but it felt so familiar. Ignoring it, he returned to the room he'd been staying in, and hopefully, to where Greyson waited. The cold burned his feet and chilled the rest of him. Shivering, he headed up the stairs and was met by Greyson.

Greyson stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Cyrus tensed, holding out the staff, but Greyson ignored it and instead, drew him inside. "Are you insane?" Greyson demanded. "It's winter and you went out in the snow."

Cyrus gaped, unsure of what to say.

Greyson pushed him in front of the fireplace. "Give me that," Greyson demanded, tugging on the staff.

He let it go, searching for his sword. Before he located it, Greyson stalked to the corner, with a very pronounced limp, and leaned his staff right next to Cyrus' blade. The sight of the two weapons together did something to Cyrus. A tingle raced down his spine as heat filled his stomach. A strong emotion that he couldn't identify swelled in his chest. It was nice. His and Greyson's weapons so casually leaning in the corner, right next to each other, as if they belonged together.

Greyson continued to fuss over Cyrus as he draped a blanket across his shoulders, then stiffly sat, inspecting his feet. A blush shot to Cyrus' cheeks as Greyson pulled the frozen appendages onto his lap, holding them in his warm grasp.

"Don't come crying to me when you lose a toe," Greyson grumbled.

Unable to stop himself, Cyrus stared at Greyson. His eyes darted away from the scar on the right side of his face. He'd done that to Greyson. It made him sick to think about it.

"Are you in pain?"

"What?"

"Are you in pain, Cyrus?"

"Yes," he answered, blinking. "My head's killing me and everything hurts."

"That's to be expected. You need to sleep."

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking in all the bruises.

"Broke my nose. Pretty sure several ribs are cracked. The rest is just bruises. I'll heal."

"Darius did that to you." Cyrus drew his feet from his grasp and tried to scoot closer, but a sharp stabbing in his shoulder and thigh made him stop with a grimace.

"Stop moving. You're going to hurt yourself. And no, Darius didn't do it himself. He had the soldiers do it."

"What?"

"I will live, Cyrus. I've had much worse." Cyrus opened his mouth to protest, but Greyson interrupted him, "You should go to sleep."

Without a word, Greyson got to his feet, grimacing, then hooked his arms around Cyrus and tried to lift him, but swear words ripped Greyson's mouth as he hugged his waist. "Oh goddess, I hate broken ribs."

Cyrus got to his feet by himself, then Greyson pushed him toward the bed and made him sit. "Greyson," he said, grabbing his hand. "We need to talk."

"I suppose we do," Greyson replied, staring at their joined hands before he withdrew from Cyrus' grasp. "But you need to rest. Having your brain scrambled, then unscrambled is trying. Not even to mention your other wounds. Shit," Greyson said, staring at him. "I need to check them."

"Later." Cyrus waved him off, heat rushing to his cheeks. He had to try very hard to think of innocuous things instead of Greyson seeing his unclothed body. "I think," he said, clearing his throat, "you should tell me what happened."

Panic coiled under his skin. His side stabbed with every single breath, his face hurt, and he could barely see, but none of that compared to the agony of realizing Cyrus didn't remember falling in love with him. Now, Greyson had to explain it all to Cyrus, who'd saved his life, yet again. Stiffly, he sank onto the chair.

"I came upon you in the woods near my home. You were injured and you passed out."

"You saved me?" Cyrus asked, looking at him with his perfect sky-blue eyes.

"No, I left you to die."

"What?" Cyrus released a startled laugh.

Staring straight at him, Greyson told the truth. "I left you to die and went home. Then it started to rain, and I felt guilty, so I went back and brought you to my cabin. When you woke up, you didn't remember anything. So I lied and told you we were friends, all the while planning on poisoning you. Hence, the poison you currently have."

Cyrus held the bottle up. "You were going to kill me with this?"

"Well," Greyson admitted, "I was going to use the fresh berries, but I decided not to pretty quickly."

"Continue."

"I wanted to know why you were here and how that would affect my people. Also, I wanted to know who erased your memories. Whoever did it wasn't very good. Some of your memories had started to return and look at you now," he said, gesturing to Cyrus, "you got everything back."

"You didn't do it?" Cyrus asked, studying him with a closed expression.

"No, I favor permanent fixes like death." When Cyrus did not say anything, he continued, "I wrote a letter to my friend in the capital to see if he knew of anything. While waiting for his response, I took you to several villages to see if I could find the mage that wiped your memories. No one knew anything. Though, several people pointed out that I couldn't kill you because the emperor would blame us all."

"Is that what stopped you?" Cyrus asked.

"Partly. Anyway, when my friend wrote back, all he knew was that you'd traveled here to do something important, and the emperor was searching for you. So I took you to Lord Darius," Greyson finished. He'd left out so much, but how could he explain what happened?

"That's not all," Cyrus said, standing with a groan. "Why did you kiss me?"

Greyson swallowed as tears burned the backs of his eyes. He could not find the words. When he saw Cyrus awake and alive, he'd been so happy. He loved Cyrus, even now, but Cyrus didn't remember any of it.

Cyrus nudged his chin until their gazes met. "Were we together?"

"What?"

"Were we together during the time I can't remember? Were you with the me I've forgotten?"

A pounding sounded in his ears. Greyson had no idea how Cyrus would react if he told the truth. I love him enough, he thought fiercely. He loved Cyrus enough to fight for him. They were perfect together, and Greyson would prove it. He captured Cyrus' hand, squeezing his fingers.

"Yes. We were together."

Mouth falling open, Cyrus took a step back, though he stayed within Greyson's grasp.

Greyson said, his voice desperate, "I didn't use you, Cyrus. I promise. You and I just…fell in love."

"What?"

"I'm in love with you," Greyson said honestly, standing and stifling the subsequent moan. "I love you, Cyrus."

Cyrus shook his head.

Pain that had nothing to do with his injuries made his breath turn harsh. "Please," he begged. "Please give me the chance to prove it. To show you how good we are together."

"Do you know why I traveled to the Griseo Mountains?" Cyrus asked quietly.

"I don't." Greyson did not know if he wanted the answer, for it could shatter his soul.

"I came to tell you that I am in love with you," Cyrus said, tugging Greyson against his chest.

"What?" Greyson asked, his voice coming out rougher than he'd meant.

"I have been in love with you since the first time I saw you."

"That's not possible."

"Honestly, I'll admit, it was lust that became love," Cyrus said. "Anyway, my aunt and cousin thought I would get over it after you were exiled, but I didn't. So they told me to come here, confess, and have you reject me. My uncle was certain you'd kill me, though my aunt said you were smarter than that."

He covered Cyrus' mouth, stopping him. It did not seem possible. All those years, Cyrus had loved him. "You love me?"

"Yes," Cyrus said against his fingers.

There was a lot they would have to work through. Also, he feared when Cyrus got to know him, he would fall out of love. But at the moment, he didn't care. Greyson kissed him. Cyrus wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him as his mouth moved against his. Greyson broke away, fighting the cry that wanted to escape.

"Did you not like it?" Cyrus asked, looking at the ground.

"Don't be stupid," Greyson snapped. "I'm in pain. My lip is split and you squeezed my ribs."

"Oh," Cyrus said. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He held Cyrus close with his hands locked behind his back. "We're both too injured for this."

"Later?"

"Later," Greyson promised.