Chapter 10

CHAPTER10

Opal threw his arm over Tristan’s bare chest—and was glad that there was a bare chest for him to feel. His pale skin stood out in stark contrast against Tristan’s darker skin. It would be an even more pleasing image if he had Tristan against his shimmering white scales, the kind of picture the artists painted to be displayed in grand halls. Maybe he could ask his sister Emerald to paint something like that for him, to commemorate his and Tristan’s love.

Fuck, these past few days of separation had been torture.

Never mind what his mother had said. Clearly, she’d been wrong. Opal and Tristan had connected, and Tristan had been so good with his fingers. Thankfully he hadn’t tried to stroke Opal’s cock, because it was getting harder and harder to find ways not to show off that part of his anatomy. His kisses could only distract Tristan so much.

Surely it would take only a few more days for Tristan to come to his senses and realize that dragon-slaying was a silly endeavor.

Tristan groaned and stirred, his hand brushing Opal’s scalp.

“Good morning,” Opal said, kissing Tristan’s lips gently. “What shall we do today, darling?”

Tristan stroked Opal’s hair, smoothing his fingers through the strands. “I need to stock up on supplies before we keep going.” He hesitated for a moment, eyes seeking Opal’s. “Are you coming with me?”

“Of course,” Opal answered, smiling. “I was afraid you didn’t want my company anymore, after… well.”

After the whole ditching thing, but that was clearly a fluke. Opal kissed Tristan again, just lips against lips, and sighed happily. He truly was in a romance story.

It would have been nice to simply laze the entire morning away, but of course Tristan was still very goal oriented. Which was good, because Opal loved that about him, and he didn’t want somebody who forgot about his dreams and ambitions on a whim.

Still, maybe a little slowing down would have been nice.

They had breakfast and went out to the markets, their hands intertwined. Opal bumped his shoulder against Tristan—accidentally the first time, but definitely on purpose every time after that.

“It’ll be colder if we head up into the mountains, or if the compass takes us south,” Tristan remarked, coming to a stop in front of a market stall with thick blankets. “Maybe we should buy…” He trailed off, and Opal followed his gaze to see what had drawn his attention.

It was a simple flyer pinned to the side of the market stand, advertising a local theater.

“You interested?” the vendor asked, leaning closer. “My son is playing one of the lead characters in that. It’s well worth watching, and I don’t just say that because it’s my son. Even though he does have the voice of a siren! Not literally, he isn’t going to enchant you.” The vendor laughed. “Anyway, I saw it once. They sing and dance and by the end I was in tears. It’s a rendition of Guinevere and Sarazi. My son plays the sorcerer.”

That sounded absolutely lovely. Opal didn’t think the music would compare to anything his father composed, but Sarazi and Guinevere… and he’d get a nice laugh about however they decided to represent the dragon.

Too bad they didn’t have time to actually see it.

Tristan stiffened a little at his side, but he was surprisingly gracious as he said, “That’s Opal’s favorite. When is the next showing?”

Opal let out a small gasp. “Are you… are you saying we can go? I thought we have to… buy things. For your mission.”

Tristan offered him a crooked smile. “We have plenty of time for that,” he assured Opal, and while he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, the fact that he was choosing the proper words heartened Opal.

“There’s one every day an hour after noon,” the vendor said helpfully. “The playhouse is just up the street. It’s the building with the bright blue doors.”

“Thank you,” Tristan told the vendor, producing a small coin and handing it over.

Opal bit his lip, trying to hide some of his excitement. “Really? You’ll take me? And maybe we can have a late lunch afterward… or before, I don’t know. It’ll be a proper date.”

Tristan glanced up, gauging the sun. “Let’s eat after so we don’t have to rush,” he said. “I can grab a few things and stow them back at the inn, then we’ll see the play and have a proper meal.” He offered a lopsided smile to Opal. “A meal that isn’t chicken.”

That sounded absolutely lovely. Opal’s heart soared, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss Tristan right there in the middle of the street—and even more to his surprise, Tristan kissed him back. Chastely, of course, but even so!

That was what people in love did, right? Just show off how in love they were. His parents did it all the time.

Opal would refrain from the public sex, though, only because he knew humans didn’t like that.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan said, though he didn’t specify exactly what he was sorry for. “I hope this can make it up to you…” Ah. The abandonment thing.

“You don’t have to do anything. But I’m glad you want to.” Opal smiled widely. “Come on, let’s go buy the tickets.” He turned to the vendor and tossed a few coins onto the stand. “Thanks for the information!”

The vendor seemed bewildered, but Opal didn’t care. He gripped Tristan’s hand tightly and rushed them through the streets to get to the playhouse.

Tristan let out a startled but amused-sounding laugh, and he let himself be dragged through the street. He squeezed Opal’s hand as they neared the blue doors, urging him to slow down with the wordless gesture.

Opal slowed down, only because he didn’t want to cause so much of a stir that he was denied entrance. But the ticket teller was happy to sell them tickets and even pointed them to a small cafe across the street where they could enjoy drinks while they waited for the show.

“I’ve never been to a play,” Opal admitted once they were seated with drinks. “I thought about it, but nobody ever wanted to go with me, and it felt a little silly to go alone.”

Tristan reached out and lightly touched Opal’s hand, resting his own hand atop it after a moment. “After the journey…” He frowned, then waved off the topic. “Maybe if things go well, we’ll have the opportunity to see more.”

“Why wouldn’t they go well?” Opal asked. He sipped on his tea—and was glad that Tristan had also ordered tea, rather than wine or ale. “You’re amazing. Whatever you set your heart on, I know you’ll accomplish.”

Tristan smiled at him. “You have such a brightness about you,” he said. “I… missed that. When we were apart.”

Opal felt his cheeks heat up. This was the first time Tristan had admitted to liking something other than Opal’s looks. “Oh, um. I’m glad. That I can brighten your day. I’ll support you in everything, and we can see every play, too.”

“Assuming I survive it all,” Tristan said, his voice dry, “I’ll take you to every play you want to go to. There’s…” He hesitated, then went on more quietly, “There’s an opera in Naran you might enjoy.”

Tristan was absolutely going to survive all of this. Opal was going to make sure of it, even if that meant he had to stab a few dragons himself.

“An opera?” Opal asked, scooting a little closer to Tristan. “Those are the ones where they don’t speak at all, right? It’s all singing? My father composes songs. That’s his passion—music. But sometimes he composes songs that are ten hours long! Nobody has time to listen to those.”

Tristan’s smile seemed strained at first, but he shook it off. “My brother could compose music,” he said softly. “Sometimes…” He looked away, staring out into the distance. “Sometimes we’d play together.”

The vulnerability in Tristan’s expression had Opal reining himself in, even though he wanted to know everything about Tristan. Instead, Opal reached out to take Tristan’s hand into his own and squeezed gently. “Yeah? What did you play?”

Tristan squeezed back. He seemed young in that moment, far younger than his mid-twenties, and even more so when he replied, “The flute.” His smile flickered and faded. “I don’t play anymore.”

“Why not?” Opal asked quietly.

Tristan started to draw his hand back, but Opal held onto it and Tristan didn’t insist on pulling it away. “I destroyed it. After I found out about Evan…” He took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. “I lost it. I destroyed most of my belongings in the barracks. I don’t have much left.”

Opal couldn’t even imagine destroying one of his treasures. He had piles and piles of books, and every one of them was precious. The idea of losing just one… and if he’d only had a few, losing those few would be devastating.

“I’m sorry,” Opal said, very sincerely. “Um. If you ever want to… I know it’s not the same, but I’d be happy to help you find a new one…”

Tristan shook his head, and this time Opal did release his hand when he pulled away. “I’m not ready. It reminds me too much of him.” His smile seemed forced. “I’m sorry. We should be talking about pleasant things, not this mess.”

“Well. Whenever you’re ready. I’d love to hear you play.” Opal smiled sadly at Tristan. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard far better,” Tristan said with a light chuckle. “But I enjoyed playing it.” Then he looked over at the playhouse. “Look, the doors are opening. Let’s go find a place to sit.”

Opal would much rather have continued their heart-to-heart, but he did want to see the play, too. They wandered over, hands intertwined so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd, and found a spot on the benches close enough to the stage that they’d be able to hear everything.

Of course, if they’d been sitting in a shady corner, they might have been able to make out or grope each other… But, no, that was the sort of thing a less refined person would do. Opal only had pure thoughts for Tristan.

Tristan waited to sit until after Opal had, then settled in next to him. His arm came up around Opal’s shoulder, and he pulled him a little closer. “Has this always been your favorite?” he asked.

Opal had to think about that question. “I’m not sure. Before I found my… passion, I was just trying out a lot of things. But I encountered some romantic tales, and I just had to collect them? And this is the story I have the most copies of. I have one copy that’s over three hundred years old. The vellum is so thin, I risk tearing it if I ever try to read it. So mostly I keep that one in storage. Oh, but I have other stories too! Like Friedrich and Tiffany, or Ivar and Raymond.”

He smiled widely, excitement building in his chest as he talked about his treasures—especially because Tristan was listening to him with such genuine-seeming interest.

“There are so many different versions of each tale. And sometimes they have the same general plots, but the ones told in Priyana are not the same as the ones told in Kithage and Phassis. And even Phassis has unique versions sometimes… did you know, modern versions of Kithagan tales remove all the raunchy bits, but several hundred years ago, before what’s-his-face got all high and mighty and decided sex was evil, there was plenty of sex in Kithagan stories.”

“I didn’t realize that,” Tristan said, tilting his head. “It doesn’t surprise me at all, though. Kithage…” He sighed. “I suppose I’ll end up there eventually, if I’m hunting dragons. But I don’t understand their customs and beliefs.”

“I’m sure that’ll all change soon, what with the dragon on the throne,” Opal said, a little thoughtlessly. He grimaced when he realized he’d mentioned Jade—who deserved at least two stabbings for being part of the problem—but he was saved from Tristan’s reaction by an actor coming out on stage.

She introduced herself as the narrator and recited a short introduction to the tale they were about to witness.

Opal sat entranced as the production began, starting with Sarazi spurning the sorcerer’s advances. They’d given the sorcerer a name, and he sang mournfully of his love for her—a love that was about her station in life and her beauty, not about Sarazi herself.

Despite what the vendor had said, her son did, in fact, literally have the voice of a siren. The magic carried itself to Opal’s ears, and while it wasn’t the pure siren sound, there was just enough of it that Opal suspected the actor had some siren blood in him.

After Sarazi’s voice joined the sorcerer and spurned his advances, he transformed her into a dragon. Opal leaned forward to get a better look at what was going on. Somebody off stage had cast a spell to create mist, and when the mist lifted, the actress playing Sarazi roared in horror.

They’d given her a set of horns, a long tail, and wings—but beyond that, she was still the same human, wearing a gauzy fabric in the same color as the wings and tail.

Opal laughed in delight. She was almost like any dragon in human form. It made his own horns itch, and he wished he could display them in the way that felt natural to him. Although he’d never been so crude as to have a tail as a human, and he didn’t think it was possible for his wings to sprout from his human back.

“You are now as beastly as you treated my heart!” the sorcerer cried, before the stage went black and the two actors exited.

Opal turned to Tristan and grinned. “I love this! The costumes are so pretty!”

Tristan smiled at him, and while his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, he took Opal’s hand in his own and massaged the back of it. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I didn’t realize Bresson had such good shows.”

The play went on, and Opal tried to memorize the words and the songs. Guinevere’s initial clash with Sarazi was so daring, and Opal gasped when she lost her sword somewhere off-stage. Of course Sarazi didn’t kill her, because that would have been a much too early end to the story. No, Sarazi had dragon instincts now, the narrator informed them all, and she had taken a liking to Guinevere and decided to keep her.

“It’s so romantic,” Opal whispered, resting his head against Tristan’s shoulder. “Two people who should have hated each other, yet they find love despite it all.”

“Do you think it’s always like that?” Tristan asked him. “That people can love each other despite so many differences?”

“Yes,” Opal answered, no hesitation at all. “Because the differences don’t matter. When you smell—see someone, you sometimes just know that things are meant to be. Like when I saw you.” He hushed his voice as Sarazi began singing her lament of how much she desired Guinevere, and how she knew it was unfair to keep her locked up. “I wouldn’t lock you up,” Opal added. “I just want to stay at your side.”

“Well, if I turned into a dragon, I’d hope you’d lock me up before I harmed anyone,” Tristan said. “But even if I was a dragon, I don’t think I could hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you either,” Opal promised, tamping down some of the guilt. He snuggled in closer to Tristan, wrapping his arms around Tristan’s waist. “Nobody would hurt you while I was around. And…”

“Would you shut up?” somebody behind him hissed. “It’s the good part.”

Tristan’s head swiveled around, and he glowered at the source of the voice. He said nothing, though, merely leveling them with that glare.

Opal was ready to snap at that person, but Guinevere and Sarazi’s duet began, and yes, this was definitely the good part. The song was so beautiful, so romantic, all about defying all the odds and finding happiness together. Opal would need to find the script for this entire play, and maybe the orchestration too, and he’d force his father to perform the songs and he’d put the entire manuscript into a shining pedestal at home.

It wasn’t the end of the play, but once the duet was over, the entire audience began clapping. Opal blinked up at the stage, a bit misty-eyed.

“I want this,” Opal whispered. “I just want… this.”

Tristan wrapped an arm around Opal, and he kissed the side of Opal’s head. “It’s terribly romantic,” he said, though Opal couldn’t quite tell whether he was agreeing or not.

The play added a few scenes that weren’t in most of the fairy tales, probably to pad the length, but it ended as it always did: Guinevere and Sarazi teaming up to defeat the sorcerer, Sarazi becoming fully human once more, and retaking her place on the throne with Guinevere as her new princess-consort.

“I don’t think they actually let knights sit on thrones,” Opal said as the actors were taking their bows. “But thrones are overrated anyway. The story would have been just as good if Sarazi and Guinevere had simply flown off into the sunset.”

“They should have,” Tristan said. “I wouldn’t want to sit on a throne either.” He tilted Opal’s chin so he could kiss him.

Opal’s heart beat faster, his stomach fluttered, and this… this had to be the most romantic thing he’d ever experienced. He kissed back, careful to keep his tongue to himself, and smiled.

The perfect date, with the perfect man.

Tristan pulled back and looked Opal directly in the eyes. This close, Opal could see the small flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes, almost like facets of a gemstone.

And that smile… Tristan’s smile was beautiful, guileless in that moment, utterly devoid of the anger and the guilt and everything else that made him so hard to reach.

How could Sapphire have said that Opal was delusional? Opal had found his treasure, and his fairy tale romance.

“I love you,” Opal said earnestly.

Tristan blinked at him—once, twice, a third time, and his mouth hung open as he stared at Opal. Speechless, he stammered something unintelligible… and it definitely didn’t consist of the words “I love you, too.”

People around them began to stand up and shuffle out of the theater, while Opal’s heart hammered hard in his chest and cracked.

It was fine.

Tristan was just shy. He didn’t want to do a confession in a place like this. Of course he didn’t; they were in public, and probably filthy, and this was very far from romantic. The timing was just bad. Opal would need to find a more suitable venue, with scented perfumes and roses and probably a sunset.

Opal got up quickly and dusted off his skirt. “I suppose we need to finish getting the supplies. Do you want to leave today still, or spend another night here?”

Relief flickered across Tristan’s features, and he considered for a moment before he smiled again at Opal—a little hesitantly, but it was still there, ever so charming and lovely. “Let’s stay the night. We’ll restock today and leave in the morning.”

Maybe on the trip, Opal would be able to scout out a perfect spot for confessions of love, with soft bedding and… yes, during a sunset, and when it turned dark, they would make love with fireflies lighting up the night sky—except it was getting too close to winter for that. Maybe a sudden cold draft would bring in snow, and they could cuddle together around the fire.

Opal kept planning his perfect romantic evening as they made their way to the markets once more.