35

Thick clouds covered the sky, the wind howled, and snow started to drift down. He held a hand out to the flurries, studying the gray expanse that covered Validus Peak. It appeared a storm was closing in on the Griseo Mountains. Cyrus didn't know exactly what a storm was like here, but he figured it would be cold. Unbearably so.

He glanced back at Lord Darius' house. The lord had tried to escape with a bag of valuables. The captain of the guard, Thad, had easily caught Darius. Cyrus couldn't believe he'd tried to flee, though it wasn't as bad as Darius hurting someone. Cyrus had a hard time containing his laughter at the image of Lord Darius scaling down the trellis with a bag of valuables over his shoulder.

Shaking his head in amusement, Cyrus walked to Widow Jones' home across the square, snow crunching under his boots. With a rap on the door, he opened it. Widow Jones sat at the table with Jasper and his scribe, a woman in her forties with gray-blonde hair and the most serious face he'd ever seen. A woman in her twenties spoke quietly as she related her tale. He stayed silent, hovering near the blazing fireplace, until she left.

"I think a storm is brewing," Cyrus remarked.

"Really?" Jasper asked, reading the sheets of paper spread across the tabletop.

"Yep."

"We should probably halt interviews for the next day or so until it blows over," Widow Jones said, standing. "Storms can get very dangerous here."

"Sounds good," Jasper said in an absentminded tone.

A warmth suffused his chest. He and Greyson could spend a couple of days together, alone, with absolutely no interruptions. A smile spread across Cyrus' face as thoughts of what they could do floated across his mind's eye.

Shoving the images aside, he asked, "You'll let people know?"

Widow Jones said, "They'll know. People here don't wander in snow storms unless it's an emergency."

"Well," he said, mind going back to Greyson, the softness of his skin, the way his lips moved when he smiled, the way his cheeks pinked. Cyrus suppressed a groan. "I should go. I need to bring in wood for Greyson and me."

"I'm sure I'll talk to you later," Jasper replied as his quill flicked over a piece of paper.

Jasper would probably interrupt Cyrus' time with Greyson. Suddenly, his vision for the next couple of days changed, and not for the better.

When he entered with an armload of wood, Greyson looked up. It looked like he'd been in the middle of stretching his knee. Slowly but steadily, Greyson was recovering from his ordeal with Lord Darius. Cyrus dropped the wood near the fireplace, then wrapped his arms around Greyson, pulling him close. The smell of pine and woods touched his nose—Greyson's scent.

"Hello," Greyson said with a slight chuckle, arms going about his shoulders.

"I think a storm is coming," he commented, not letting go of Greyson.

"They are common this time of year, and I can see the clouds gathering from the window."

"Hmm."

After a moment, Greyson wiggled in his embrace, and Cyrus freed him. Cyrus watched as Greyson began to prepare a pot of tea. He wanted to laugh. Greyson and his tea—a love even he couldn't compete with.

"I should get some more wood."

"That's a good idea," Greyson said. "Let me help you."

"You're limping. I've got it."

"Thanks, love."

The wind whipped around him, unfurling his cloak and chilling him. Quickly, head down, he stalked toward the lean-to not far from the stairs. He loaded up an arm full of wood and headed inside. He dropped the wood to the floor, and he and Greyson stacked it neatly.

"I'm going to get more," Cyrus said. "It's getting really cold outside."

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?"

"Yes."

He made two more trips, so there was an ample supply in the apartment. Then he went back out again to check on Widow Jones to see if she needed him to haul wood in for her. The old woman politely declined. Her grandchildren had it covered. Finally, he headed back to the apartment, frozen.

Shivering, he stepped inside, and Greyson immediately appeared in front of him. He helped Cyrus take off his cloak, vest, and boots before making him sit in front of the warm fire.

"I'm excited about the storm," Cyrus said.

"Why?"

"A couple of days alone with you."

Greyson shook his head with a slight frown, but Cyrus discerned a blush tinging his gray cheeks. Grinning, he scooted closer and asked, "How's your knee?"

"Better."

"Really?"

"Yes, Cyrus."

"I'm glad."

Greyson sat in front of him until the kettle released an angry whistle. He made his tea, then settled back in front of Cyrus, pushing a plate of cookies toward him.

"Where did you get these?" Cyrus asked around a mouthful.

"Jessica brought them."

"They're good."

The oatmeal cookies were soft and flavorful. Greyson only ate a couple, dunking them into his tea, while Cyrus decimated the plate. He loved sugary baked goods. He didn't fancy candy, but he loved pastries.

A smile played on Greyson's lips as Cyrus ate the last cookie, relishing every bite. Wiping the crumbs from his shirt, he asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Greyson said.

Greyson flipped the hotcake as the wind roared outside. He glanced over his shoulder at Cyrus, who sprawled on the bed. He put the plate on the table and moved toward him. Cyrus had his eyes closed, but he was awake. There was a tension in his posture that wasn't there when he was asleep.

"Breakfast is ready."

"It smells good," Cyrus replied, cracking an eye open.

They sat at the table, and Cyrus placed a couple of hotcakes on a plate as well as a scoop of eggs, then pushed it toward Greyson before filling his own plate. Cyrus shoved a huge forkful into his mouth, then said, "I love hotcakes. They're my favorite."

"I know. That's why I made them."

"Did the other me like them?"

Greyson rolled his eyes but refrained from remarking on there only being one of him. "Yes."

He frowned slightly before taking another bite. Cyrus finished the hotcakes quickly, and Greyson slid more onto his plate. "Thank you."

"Eat up," he said before eating a spoonful of eggs.

Another howl sounded, making the windows rattle. Smoke blew in from the fire and made him cough. Greyson didn't doubt that it was cold outside, but the fire kept the house toasty warm.

"How long do the storms usually last?" Cyrus asked as the window rattled loudly.

"It depends. This low on the mountains, they're not as bad. Usually a day or two of weather like this, then it's just snowing and cold."

"What do you normally do during storms?"

"Before my family passed, my mother would tell stories or my father would play his lute. Sometimes we'd play games. After they and my sister died, I spent them alone."

Cyrus pushed his eggs around the plate. "Did your family live in the same home you live in now?"

"No. I lived in the village proper, but after, I couldn't stay in the house. A family ended up moving into it. I lived with Widow Abney, who wasn't a widow yet, and her husband for a few months. After Old Man Johnson died, I moved into his cabin."

"If you don't mind me asking, how did your family die?" Cyrus asked.

"It's okay. I don't mind."

"Did you already tell the other me?"

"There's only one you, and yes, I mentioned it but didn't go into any detail."

"Sorry. I swear I'm not competing."

"You are, and it's fine." Greyson did not understand Cyrus' jealousy about the time he couldn't remember. Greyson had been with him and no one else. "Anyway, my parents and little sister died when I was fourteen. There was a sickness sweeping through the empire. A lot of people died. My family was one of them."

Cyrus paused, mouth opening. "My parents died from that. I was nine. We were in the capital where it started. My parents got sick and passed away. You would've been eleven."

"I knew your parents had died, but I didn't know how or when."

"We lost our families to the same thing," Cyrus said with a shake of his head.

"I guess we have more in common than either of us would have thought."

Greyson lay on his back with Cyrus hovering over him. There wasn't much light in the apartment, only what the low-burning fire gave off. The wind continued to howl and shake the building while the windows juddered in their frames.

"One more question," Cyrus said.

"It's late."

"I want to know everything."

Most of the day had been spent in the same manner. Greyson did not mind per se, and it wasn't like he couldn't understand Cyrus' curiosity. "Fine," he said, "but only if I get to ask you one for each question you ask me."

"Sure."

"Ask your question, then."

"Can you really summon lightning?"

Unable to stop himself, Greyson chortled. Everyone wanted to know about that. It was a lost art that he mastered. "Yes."

"When did you learn to do it? No, how did you learn to do it?"

"Those are more questions."

Cyrus' blonde hair fell about his face, and Greyson could feel himself weakening the longer those perfect blue eyes stared at him. "Fine. I learned when I was almost nineteen. Do you remember that abandoned corner of the library you always followed me to?" When Cyrus nodded, he continued, "There's a book there that describes it, not in detail, but enough to give me a rough idea. The first time I returned home after I got my staff, I spent months trying different things to summon lightning. Finally, I could do it."

"That's crazy. You taught yourself."

"I did that for several spells, especially battle magic."

"Why don't you ever use it?"

Greyson scowled at yet another question, but he answered anyway, "It takes a lot of energy and it's not practical to use."

"That's still cool."

"I will show you sometime," Greyson offered.

"You will?"

"Sure."

Cyrus opened his mouth, but Greyson placed a hand over it. "It's my turn." Lips pursed, Greyson thought through what he wanted to ask before finally settling on something. "Why didn't you say anything to me when we first met?"

"I was over-awed by you."

"What do you mean?"

Cyrus stroked Greyson's cheek. "When I first saw you, I instantly liked you. Like crazy liked you. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Then the ancient staff flew out of the treasury and landed at your feet. You were so calm, like you expected that to happen. You simply picked it up, and waves of power rolled off you. I was enamored and seventeen. I couldn't get a single word out even when I tried.

"My uncle yelled at me after the meeting. I was supposed to contribute, not stand there and ogle you. Especially since Jade had been sick for that first meeting. I followed you, hoping to speak, but I couldn't. Every time I was tongue-tied. The next year you came, I managed to talk to you, but by then, you already hated me, and rumors of how powerful you were started to circle."

"I summoned lightning in front of a bunch of school mages that made fun of me. You must have not been stalking me that day."

"I missed that," Cyrus said, the disappointment obvious in his voice. "Anyway, I did try. Once, I tried to hold your hand. You shook me off."

"I don't remember that."

"The third year you came, you had a bruise on your chin, and I touched your cheek, trying to look at it."

Greyson's brow furrowed. "I don't remember that either."

"I did try in my own awkward way, but I couldn't seem to get the words out, and you didn't notice. No one did until Jasper got engaged to Jade. He was the first person who realized I liked you, and he kept it a secret."

"Ah, yes, when you tried to dose me with a love potion." It would not have ended well for Cyrus if he'd attempted it. Greyson's magic would have burned through it, and he would have been pissed, though the obsessive stalking would have made sense.

A blush rose to Cyrus' cheeks. "Jasper caught me, and explained, rather calmly, that I was an idiot, and you would kill me in a painful way."

"He was right about that."

"Anyway," Cyrus said, clearing his throat, "I didn't do much more than fantasize."

Greyson smirked. "What kind of fantasies?"

"I already answered your question," he said, not looking at him.

He leaned up, ignoring his aching ribs, and asked again, "What kind of fantasies?"

"I was seventeen when I met you. You know what kind of fantasies."

Sniggering, Greyson grabbed Cyrus' face. "Did you have dirty dreams about us in the meeting room?"

Heat rushed to Cyrus' cheeks as he glared.

Unable to help it, he laughed. Cyrus refused to meet his gaze. Greyson tightened his grasp. "I'm just teasing you, love. Honestly, I'm curious."

"So you can make fun of me?"

"Partly," he confessed. "But also, I'm amazed at how much you liked me for so long."

"Most were very tame, especially at first, because I was a virgin who didn't know anything. My main one was you would suddenly kiss me in different areas of the palace, but we'd always end up in my room. It got more graphic once I had the experience to support it. My favorite one was about having sex with you on the beach at the summer palace."

"That sounds sandy."

"It's a fantasy," Cyrus said, eyes averted.

Greyson kissed his lips. Cyrus pressed into his touch, careful not to lean on him. Greyson shifted back just enough to see him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Loving me so long. I'm sorry I didn't notice. I think if maybe I'd slowed down and hadn't been so focused on my responsibilities and what had to be done, I might have noticed you. Or at least, that I was attracted to you."

"You're more than welcome."