Chapter Ten

As Bortorra dwindled in the distance, Cay gathered his courage and his limbs and creaked to his feet, knuckles white on the rim of the basket. Beneath his feet there was nothing—hundreds of feet of nothing, and far, far below, the hard ground.

But air was not nothing, as Kell's irritating friend had said. The air seemed alive, pulling them upward and pushing them eastward, obeying laws of its own. The wind was cold and fresh in his lungs as he took in the view. It wasn't fully dark up here. The indigo sky was spangled with stars, and the eastern horizon was beginning to brighten, a line of azure above the black hills. The mountains to the north loomed, an almost-impassable barrier, their snowy sides glowing in the starlight. When he peeked downward, the world was a map: roads, rivers, villages, pastures and fences, and barns, all reduced to brushstrokes on paper, tiny and astonishing.

Adrio stood straight in the basket, the wind blowing through his hair, watching Cay's timorous explorations.

Cay said, "The bag will catch fire, and we'll burn to death."

"Possibly."

"Or we'll run out of fuel and fall out of the sky."

"I hope not."

"Or we'll be blown out to sea."

"We're going east. We'll run out of fuel and fall out of the sky long before we reach the coast."

"You've lost your mind."

Adrio smiled, wide and delighted. "We are the Uncanny Aviator. Together we have bedeviled the Muntegrise and escaped in our invisible smoke-balloon."

"Slick as the port side of an anchovy," said Cay. Adrio threw his head back and laughed.

Adrio added fuel to the kiln and turned to pump the bellows. Cay curled up in the corner of the basket, wrapped a cloak around himself, and watched as Adrio experimented with opening and closing the vent at the top of the bag to make the balloon rise or fall. His exertions must have been keeping him warm; Cay was freezing. After the first shock of flight faded, he began to feel his weariness. The two-day journey from Valette to Sarea, the fall from the horse, the climb, the— Well, he was exhausted.

"Feel that?" said Adrio. "If we go too high, the wind shifts northward. I'd rather not crash in the mountains. But if I drop us down, we'll start going east again. I just have to keep from going too high or too low."

"How do you know what you're doing?"

"I've been reading about it." Adrio smiled. "You can learn a lot from books, Husband."

"You cannot learn how to fly from books, Husband. How did you know this would work?"

"Well," admitted Adrio, "I couldn't think of anything else to try."

"Oh my gods, you didn't know."

"Look." Adrio pointed. Cay peeked over the rim of the basket. "Look at the clouds above us. Do you see how they're flat on the bottom? It's as if they cannot go lower. As if the air moves in layers. Different winds in different layers. Up above, the clouds go north; down here, we go east. I read about it, and now we're in the air, I can see it."

Hesitantly, Cay asked, "How do the layers of air stay separate? And how can you make the balloon pass from one layer to another if the clouds cannot?"

Adrio didn't answer.

"Is that a foolish question?" wondered Cay.

"No. It seems an excellent question to me. I have no idea."

"Kell will know," Cay suggested sleepily. "The Principle of Clouds."

"Perhaps the Chende know. They say, ‘If the Wind blows right,' when they hope for good fortune. Perhaps tonight, the wind blows right."

Adrio was so handsome, with the wind in his tawny hair and the light of the coming dawn on his face. Cay hadn't seen him so happy in ages. It made Cay's soul feel a little cleaner. He tried to forget he was filthy, exhausted, and miserable with cold; his toes were scraped, and there was gunk under his fingernails and blood in his hair. He tried, instead, to bask in Adrio's happiness.

After a long while, Adrio tidily coiled and stowed the vent line, and then came and sat beside him, wrapping his arm around Cay's shoulders and tucking him against his side. Cay shuddered with relief at his warmth and melted against his body.

"Flying frightens you," said Adrio, "but you climbed up the side of a tower to save me."

He shrugged. "It's not the same. When I'm climbing, I'm concentrating on what I'm doing."

"This seems less frightening to me," said Adrio. "Because there's nothing to do. All we can do is let it happen. So... let it happen."

Cay leaned his head tiredly on Adrio's shoulder. The stars shone on them, and the night was quiet except for the wind.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Cay," murmured Adrio, so softly Cay could hardly hear it. "I've had time to regret the things I've said to you, the last few months. I'd consider myself well-served if you were in Harodj by now."

Cay shifted, tucking his icy hands under his armpits. He didn't know how to respond to an Adrio who was nice to him. Gratitude, probably. Which was not the same as liking or respect.

He said, "I only learned how to pick locks after you left." Adrio said nothing, and Cay smiled bitterly. "You're wondering if I'm lying. How can you trust anything I say, after all? You think I'm a Muntegrise spy."

"Well, I don't think so any more."

"Because I—" The words congealed in Cay's throat. He coughed to get them out. "Did I prove my innocence when I killed Hob Fierar? Perhaps I should have brought you a Muntegrise corpse as a courting-gift. Or, no, because you also think I'm a heartless killer. Perhaps it's all right if I murder my own countrymen but not the Chende?" He shrugged. "I don't understand what you think."

"Neither do I," muttered Adrio. "You kept so many secrets."

"Are you really chiding me for keeping secrets, O Aviator?"

"I would have told you," protested Adrio.

"Well." Cay rested his cheek on his knees. "Perhaps I would have told you too, if you'd given me the chance. We'll never know."

"I gave you every chance. I asked about you, and your past, and what you wanted, and you just smiled like a poppy and changed the subject."

Cay closed his eyes. He didn't want to fight. He felt Adrio sigh, and relaxed into him, leaning his head on Adrio's shoulder. He was warm all along where their bodies were pressed together, where Adrio's arm was around him, and the rest of him was cold and aching with soreness.

After a while, Cay said, "Shall I tell you a secret, then?"

"Will you?"

"All right. I never hated the Chende. I like them. I always have."

He felt Adrio's eyes on him. "You what?"

Thirteen-year-old Cay sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of a tiny stall in a Turla marketplace, picking the glass beads out of cheap costume jewelry and sorting them by size, shape, and color. All around him, the marketplace seethed and sang—shouting voices, music, barking dogs, the smells of people and cooking and fire and sewage. The jewelry Cay was breaking down was almost certainly stolen.

A hand came down and ruffled his hair. "It's getting late," said Urgeg Viki Bekh. "You should go home to your supper."

"I don't want to go home. And I haven't finished." Cay dropped a glass ruby into a saucer of other glass rubies. He looked up at Urgeg—a gaunt old Chende woman, her hair a mix of gray and silvery-lavender. She would make him leave unless he could get her talking. "Why don't you live in the mountains?"

"Why don't you?"

"I'm Muntegrise. Chende live in the mountains."

Urgeg snorted and tugged Cay's hair. "I've never even been to the mountains, boy."

"Why? Did you feud with a mountain clan?"

"No one will buy my wares up there."

Urgeg's assistant, Bahen Op, chimed in: "We were here before the Muntegrise were."

Cay glowered at him. "No, you weren't."

"We were." Bahen was whittling something ornate out of wood. "All our songs say Bekh is a plateau clan. We followed the snow-deer with our horses and dogs and never went to the mountains. We stayed when the Muntegrise came and killed the deer and made it against the law for us to own horses."

Cay had never heard of snow-deer or of Chende who rode horses across the great plateau of Muntegri. "But the Muntegrise are here now. Don't you want to go to the mountains?"

"Why would we?"

"Maybe they'd be nicer than the people here," mumbled Cay, ducking his head, using his fingernails to pry an amber bead out of its tarnished setting.

"Probably not," said Bahen cheerfully.

Later, after Cay finished breaking down the jewelry and Urgeg had fed them both bread and butter, Bahen showed Cay what he had made: an intricate set of nested wooden spirals small enough to sit in his palm.

"What is it?" Cay turned it over in his hands.

"Hold it this way." Bahen set it in Cay's cupped hand. "Now, watch." He blew on it, and its central spiral spun around and around.

"What's it for?"

"You put it above your door so you can see what the wind is doing."

It was beautiful. Cay blew on it, setting it in motion, and then asked, "Can I have one?"

"No." Bahen took it from him. "It's a Chende thing. Your father wouldn't like it."

"I ran away a lot when I was younger," Cay explained. "I began roaming the city, climbing down the city walls to the Sixth Circle. The slums. Lots of dangerous places for children: gaming dens and brothels and beggars. People who can't afford to be anywhere else. And of course, the Chende of Turla lived in the Sixth Circle. Clan Bekh began protecting me, keeping the pimps and the drug-dealers away. I suppose they took pity on me. There was a Bekh merchant—she ran a pawnshop, except most of the things were probably stolen—who let me hang around and help. She saw I was interested in buttons and fabrics, so she They arranged for me to meet a Muntegrise tailor on the Fifth, and he visited my father to see if he'd let me become his apprentice."

"I had no idea," marveled Adrio. "I thought you hated them."

"No. I spent as much time with them as I could. They were kind to me, and I'm indebted to them. Those Chende I knew in Turla."

"Why did you run away from home?"

Cay sighed and snuggled more closely against Adrio's side. "I think that's why I never told you. Because then you'd ask why I ran away from home. Why I apprenticed with a tailor, instead of my father."

"Will you not tell me?"

Cay sighed. Why not? "I was a baby in my mother's arms at my parents' wedding. My mother said the man who sired me had died, and her new husband, Cou Olau, pledged to raise me as if I were his own. I didn't know all that, of course, when I was a little boy. I adored him. I followed him around and went into his workshop, and watched him work. He would let me play with the clay. I was going to apprentice with him. One day I was going to be his partner. I used to pretend I was already a potter, working by his side."

Adrio turned his head to nuzzle Cay's hair.

"I was five when Kell was born. She looks just like him. More and more every year. And every year, I was looking more and more like someone else. And he... he stopped liking me. He didn't want to see me, or talk to me, or have me around anymore. He stopped teaching me his trade. He would punish my mother if she seemed to favor me, even if he was just imagining it. And he wanted Kell to stay away from me. He told her I was a bad boy. A bad influence, and she shouldn't be like me or listen to me."

Adrio's hand was in his hair, stroking. "Your mother never defended you?"

"Only behind his back. Kell did, though. When she got old enough. She took my side every time. Well, you've seen how she defends me."

"I can still feel it," joked Adrio, massaging his jaw.

Cay smiled. "So that's how it was in my home. Nothing I did could earn my father's favor. So I would leave. I dreamed my sire wasn't dead and I'd find him there on Six—stumble across someone who recognized me and would claim me. Which I never did, of course. Whoever he was, I never found him."

"I'm sorry," said Adrio after a while. "It must have been a hard childhood."

"It wasn't terrible." His voice was husky from talking, and he cleared his throat. "I had Clan Bekh. They always welcomed me. And my father... He wasn't a bad man. He provided for us. He... he died bravely."

Adrio rested his cheek on Cay's head.

"You grew up with secrets. How I wish I had known that. Why did you keep all this from me?"

"I hardly know. I didn't decide to. I've always kept it secret. And... I suppose I'm at such a disadvantage, without you knowing I'm a bastard as well."

"I don't mind, Cay."

"I know. But I do. I mind being your poor common-born husband, sometimes, though I know I shouldn't. And also... I don't like to talk about him. Because I loved him, and he didn't love me. And now he's dead, and I miss him. It's hard to explain. I didn't think you would be very sympathetic."

"Oh, Cay. I'm sorry." After a while he added, "Perhaps do I understand a little. I still miss my father too. My parents had a dynastic marriage, and they weren't happy. He was the one who told me to marry for love, not for Lodola."

"Well," said Cay encouragingly, "you will have a chance to do it right. When Kell and I have gone, you'll court someone different. Someone who's really good, not just good to look at."

Adrio paused for so long before he responded that Cay wondered if he'd heard him. He glanced over; Adrio's eyes were on the sky. Finally he said, "You still intend to leave, then?"

Cay blinked. "Of course. Nothing has changed."

"Has it not?"

"No. It was decided the moment you imprisoned me."

"Tried to imprison you. It was hardly a successful attempt."

"Do you imagine that matters?" snapped Cay.

"No." Adrio's voice was low. "No, I suppose I am being flippant."

Cay studied his face. "Our marriage is over." It hurt to say, but it was best to be plain. "But we can both begin again, wiser this time. You'll find someone who makes you truly happy. You deserve to be happy."

Adrio did not reply. After a while, Cay murmured, "Look how beautiful the sky is."

Together they watched the dawn paint the sky rose and gold.

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was deep blue with morning, and the tops of trees whisked by.

He jerked upright. "We're falling!"

"We're landing," said Adrio.

"We are?" They were much closer to the ground; the fire in the stove was banked, and Adrio held the line to keep the vent open. As the balloon gently lowered itself toward the meadow below, Cay admitted Adrio's mastery of the thing was impressive.

"You can't see it now, but Wind House is just behind us, on the other side of those hills," said Adrio. "I tried to land closer, but we kept getting blown this way. Still, we can walk a few miles and then have a meal and a bath and a bed. How does that sound?"

Like paradise, he began to say, but then one corner of the basket touched ground, and he squawked and was thrown against the side. They skidded and hopped across the field over the ground with teeth-snapping force, dragged by the wind. They might have bounced along for miles, if the balloon hadn't snagged on a copse of junipers. The basket came to an abrupt halt, tilted at a precarious angle three feet in the air, and dumped them out. Cay rolled and lay on the ground, shaking.

"Are you all right?"

"Dizzy." Cay sat up, rotating his sore shoulder. Adrio, who had landed neatly on his feet, was trying to tug the balloon out of the trees.

"You're hurt?" asked Adrio. "Your shoulder?"

"From when the horse threw me."

"You didn't tell me the horse threw you."

"Well, it had to get rid of me before it could run away. It was a lot like what just happened, actually."

He stood cautiously and stretched. Huddling in the cold in the balloon's basket for hours had left him sore in every muscle and stiff in every joint.

"Let's leave this and get somewhere warm," said Adrio. "Can you walk?"

"Of course."

He could limp. It was not far, but it was mostly uphill over uneven ground, and by the time they reached Wind House, Cay was sweating through his clothes and certain he stank like a goat in the summertime. A bloody goat. There was something gummy and black under his fingernails and in the creases of his palms that he suspected was dried blood, and stains on his clothes, and his temper was as foul as his smell. Adrio noticed and left him alone, matching his limping pace until Wind House came into view.

The sight of it didn't improve Cay's mood. The happiest days and nights of his life had been spent in this beautiful round tower-house, golden stone with arched windows, nestled in the foothills and surrounded by gardens. He'd been so full of hope—or perhaps hope wasn't the right word. Confidence. His Adrio loved him, was willing to challenge all Lucenequan society to be with him, so what could ever hurt him?

The door of Wind House flew open, and Mella came out. She and her husband Nesso and their children lived here year-round, tending the house and grounds and keeping all in readiness in case Ondrei or his guests wanted to visit. Mella looked alarmed at the sight of them, and no wonder.

"My lords! How in the world did you come here, afoot? I had no word!"

"It's a long story, mistress," said Adrio. "But may we impose upon your hospitality? We are in need of shelter."

"You are both most welcome. What do you need?"

Cay hung back while Adrio rattled off their wants: a message to Ondrei, food, baths, clothes, and a place to stay for a day or so while they recovered.

"I can have baths hot in an hour or so, and in the meantime, we've fresh bread, cheese, and hot stew."

Cay piped up. "Thank you. It sounds marvelous, but I would render any bathwater unfit by touching it. Who would like to hose me down?"

He was escorted to the kitchen yard pump, where he stripped and was doused with icy water by the servants' giggling children. He welcomed the scouring cold, and Mistress Mella's strong yellow soap. He scrubbed the hard soap wedge over his skin and combed the stinging suds through his hair again and again, shuddering at the memory of blood and the smell of death.

Clean, blue with cold, and wrapped in a borrowed robe with a towel around his head, he padded into the kitchen to find Adrio eating and drinking with Nesso. "Come have some food," he said, but Cay shook his head.

"I just need to sleep in a bed that isn't moving."

He expected one of the servants to escort him to a room, but Adrio got up, took him by the hand, and led him to a bedroom. It was not the same room they'd stayed in during their honeymoon. This room had a balcony overlooking the mountains, not the gardens. Cay gazed longingly at the bed, deep and wide, and covered with a red quilt. A clean nightshirt was folded neatly on the pillow. He turned to look at Adrio, who, for some reason, was still there.

They weren't married anymore. Only technically. There was the formality of Cay leaving, of Adrio filing his claim of abandonment, but it was over already.

He waited.

After an awkward moment, Adrio bowed his head. "Sleep well." He turned to go.

Only after the door was closed behind him did Cay drop his damp towels, pull on the nightshirt, and crawl beneath the blankets to sink into the warm bed.

In his dream, Cay pushed his dagger into Hob Fierar's throat so slowly he felt everything through the hilt. The skin, layer by layer, parted to the blade, then the thicker meat of muscle, the gristly pipe of the airway—all separate and horrifying sensations. What had, in life, taken barely an instant now seemed to drag out for hours. The dagger pressed on eagerly, grinding against bone, and blood sprayed and flooded and spattered out, coating him—

He woke with a gulp of air.

There was no blood, no dagger. No filthy stench. He was in a deep bed, clean and warm between smooth sheets. The room was dark. Dim moonlight streamed through the window, casting shifting shadows over the curved stone walls. He had slept the day away.

Adrio lay next to him, though he was invisible in the dimness. Cay knew the sound of his breathing, the scent of his skin and hair. For an instant, he thought he was still dreaming; a dream of his honeymoon and Adrio's love. But Adrio was lying on Cay's right arm, and his hand had gone numb. His happy dreams never featured such discomforts.

"Are you all right?" murmured Adrio.

Cay wiggled. "My arm."

"Hm?" Adrio shifted so Cay could free his trapped limb, then rolled over and wrapped his arms around Cay's waist, nuzzling his bristly cheek against Cay's chest before lapsing back into sleep.

Cay flexed his hand, waiting for the pins and needles to subside, trying to believe it would be better if Adrio weren't in bed with him. It would only make it harder to leave. He should find somewhere else to stay rather than remain here in this shifting darkness, surrounded by the warmth of Adrio.

Instead, Cay stroked tentative fingertips through Adrio's silky hair, then traced down his nape. He wore a loose-collared nightshirt, linen from the feel of it, and Cay slid his hand into the collar to stroke his shoulders. He couldn't see them in the darkness, but Adrio's shoulders were broad and smooth, with patchy freckles. Cay had liked to kiss those freckles, once. He could almost feel them—the skin on Adrio's shoulders was bumpy. Curious, Cay rubbed a thumb over one of the bumps.

Adrio woke with a jerk and a hiss of pain. Cay yanked his hand away. Then his eyes opened wide in the darkness.

"That son of a dog," snarled Cay.

Adrio sat up. "What is it?"

"Are those scabs on your back?" Adrio said nothing, and Cay insisted, "Did that bastard whip you? Light a lamp, and let me see your back."

"Oh, no. No, it's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Cay gritted, "My lord. Husband. Answer me. Were you whipped?"

"It wasn't bad, truly. It'll heal." He reached for Cay's arm.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." Cay ground his teeth, and Adrio added, "Only a little."

"I'm going to go back there and stab him again."

"Come on. Lay down." Adrio tugged him, and Cay allowed Adrio to arrange him on his side and to hug him from behind, chest to Cay's back. Adrio combed his fingers through Cay's hair, soothing him, and Cay closed his eyes, trying to breathe through his tangle of emotions: anger and love and hurt and confusion.

After a while, he said, "Why are you here? You didn't want the servants to know we sleep in separate rooms?"

Adrio tightened his arms around Cay's middle. He said, after a moment, "I missed you."

Cay laced his fingers in Adrio's and held Adrio's hand against his heart. "You didn't miss me a month ago."

"I think I started missing you as soon as we married."

Because he had been disillusioned, Cay supposed. He had been disappointed. He said nothing; there seemed to be nothing left to say. They lay quietly for a while. Adrio's body was warm, and Cay could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"You saved my life," said Adrio. "I'm still astonished by it. You left me; you still intend to leave me. Don't you?"

"Yes."

"And yet you risked your life to save mine, with no thought to the risk, wanting nothing of me. It is... It is the very definition of honor."

"I didn't do it because it was honorable," said Cay.

"I know." Adrio shifted in the darkness, perhaps running his hands over his face as he did when he was thinking.

Suddenly furious, Cay sat up, folding his arms even though Adrio could not see him in the darkness. "Adrio, what is the use of all these gentle words? I told you when you locked me in my room that there would be nothing left. Where is the husband who did it anyway?"

Adrio sat up too, ready to defend himself. "Right here. And I don't believe there's nothing left."

"Why? What are we but two men who married too soon, knowing each other too little?"

"Two men who loved truly."

"Hah." How he wanted to believe him. He steeled his heart. "No. I think you married me thinking I was sweet-natured and would look pretty in your bed. You started having doubts when you realized I'm not very sweet, actually—"

"That's not—"

"And perhaps the pressure of the scandal was more than you expected it to be, so—"

"No. No." Adrio slapped the bed with one palm. "None of that is true. I did not give a damn about the scandal, and I hate it when you're sweet. I wanted you, all of you, all of your maddening—" Adrio took a deep breath. "You. I kept waiting for you to stop pretending and to talk to me, and you never did."

"I planned to tell you!"

"No. You lie, and you distract, and you maneuver, and you deny truths I can see with my own eyes. I doubted my own senses sometimes because I wanted to believe your lies. You heaped dishonor upon me with every distracting lie—"

"Your peacock's honor had nothing to do with any of it."

Adrio sighed, a hot breath of frustration. "I know. I—I think I am beginning to understand. But Cay, honor . . . it is a public display, yes, because I have been born with great gifts, and I must be seen to deserve them, to embody what it means to be a nobleman. But it is a private thing too. It springs from my heart. From my sense of who I am and must be. And to be lauded for my public honor, while in private I could not convince you to give me the tiniest sliver of your trust... It was painful. There seemed no reason for it."

"And so you seized upon the first explanation you were offered?"

"The only one." His voice was low with sorrow. "I grant it makes little sense, but it was all I had. What could be so terrible that you would not tell me, no matter how hard I tried to win your confidence? That you're illegitimate? I don't care!"

"I didn't know you wouldn't care!"

"Can you blame me for doubting you, when you so clearly did not want me to know you?"

"Can you blame me for doubting you now?"

"No!"

They sat in bed in the darkness, facing each other in mutual hurt.

"No," added Adrio. "Not now. Not after my disgraceful behavior. But how honored I would have been, Cay, if you had turned to me with confidence. How I would have loved to be trusted by you. Every little untruth shamed me and pricked at me. And then you looked at me with such love... I treated you abominably, but sometimes I needed to make you stop looking at me like that."

Cay wanted to remain angry, but he felt tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. How different would things be if he had opened himself fully to his husband? It simply hadn't seemed possible at the time. He protected his heart by letting others see what they wanted to see. He'd begun doing it as a child, pretending to be his father's son.

"I did want to talk to you." Cay's lips felt stiff as he forced this admission out. "I didn't know you felt it or you minded it. I didn't know. And then you didn't like me anymore, and I thought it proved I was right not to confide in you in the first place. But I was trying to protect myself and my sister, and you just resorted to meanness. It's not the same."

Adrio sighed. "But I still don't understand who you were protecting yourself from. Me?"

Cay felt a pang of guilt for hurting him. No matter how angry he got, he wanted Adrio to be happy, always. He never wanted to cause him pain. "I suppose I'm not being fair," he murmured. "It's not reasonable to expect you to be as much a fool as I am."

"That's— Wait." Adrio passed a hand over his eyes. "Wait. Lay down beside me, Cay. Lay with me and relax, and I will tell you a secret, as you told me a secret last night. Doesn't that seem a good place to begin? Lay back, Cay."

"All right." He cuddled beneath the blankets again, not touching his husband but sharing the bed.

"All right. At her coronation, the queen said she wanted to recognize the dignity and humanity of the Chende people, which the former king had never done. This was of course a response to the rumors coming out of Muntegri, of the massacres of the Chende, and the Grup labor camps. She wanted to distinguish her reign from that of the Grup."

"I remember you telling me about it."

"Those rumors... I wanted to find a way to liberate those prisoners and bring them to a new home. I started trying to find a way before I ever met you."

"Sounds like a very honorable thing to do."

"You mock me," Adrio said mildly, "but yes, of course. A person ought to find some way to make good use of his fortune if he has one. Also, I thought it would be fun."

Cay smiled in the darkness.

Adrio went on, "Did you know, hundreds of years ago, this used to be Chende land? There was a string of Chende fortifications at the foot of the mountains to guard the passes, and Wind House was one of them. Bortorra, too. When we Lucenequans came north, we took this land and took their towers. They became smugglers and raiders in the mountains, and we made Wind House a fortification against them. Did you know that?"

"No. But I knew a Chende in Turla who told me Muntegri used to be his clan's land."

"Yes. I think they were first. But the Lucenequans came up from the south, the Muntegrise came down from the north, and now the Chende clans are in their mountains. Or serving us as our servants and laborers, or being worked in the mines by the Grup. That's how I got the idea to bring them out of the camps in Muntegri through Chende territory. Surely the mountain Chende clans would help their cousins, I thought."

"The Chende clans demand payment for passage through the passes," said Cay flatly. "No matter who you are."

"They do. I didn't know at the time." He shifted. "If it was light, we could see the mouth of Lehoia Pass through the window. It's just through the hills to the north. We Lucenequans named it Lehoia for the lions, but the Chende call it Szul, which means wind. They speak often of the wind."

"Perhaps they worship it."

"Certainly they respect it. So, one night on our honeymoon, you were asleep and I was looking up at the mountains, thinking about how the Pass goes right to the river that runs north to Turla. After we returned to Valette, I came back and rode up alone and met with Gizon Ingok of the Maquhi Clan."

"I remember. You told me you had some business and left me alone for a week."

"Do you challenge my honor for my lie? Well, you're right to do so. I was eager for your approval, and I was afraid the Maquhi would kick me out on my ear."

"You're lucky Gizon Ingok didn't kill you."

"You do know him, don't you?" Cay said nothing, and Adrio continued. "Fortunately, he is susceptible to wealth."

"I picked the lock on your cabinet and read your account book," said Cay. "I know what you've been paying the Maquhi Clan."

He expected anger, but Adrio only snorted. "So. I dealt with the Maquhi Clan, then I followed the river north to the prison camps south of Turla, hired six Chende, and led them south through the Pass. They live in Lodola now. Do you know what surprised me about it all? I was terrified the whole time."

He confessed this in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. Cay frowned, puzzled. "You're never afraid."

"I was so frightened the first time I spoke to a Grup guard at the work camp, I thought I would faint."

"You were throwing lies in Hob Fierar's face as he was getting ready to torture you."

"I was very nearly pissing myself." He turned his head on the pillow. "When you came through the window, my gods. I have never been so frightened. All my life I'd longed for adventure, not realizing I was such a coward."

"You?"

Cay rethought what he'd seen in Bortorra, when Adrio, sitting tied to a chair, smiled up into Hob Fierar's face and made up lies about the levitational properties of cedar. Nothing about him had seemed frightened—his relaxed pose, his easy voice.

"You are no coward," whispered Cay.

"Anyway," Adrio went on, "that is my best explanation, Cay. I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to be your hero, but I came home with a new knowledge about myself: my cowardice. And my impotence. The camp... There are hundreds of prisoners, men and women and children, and I'd rescued six. I'd imagined I would feel triumph and you would admire me, and instead, I was frightened and tired, and with all my money and planning and daring, I had helped six people. I could go back again and again, and still, it would be so little. So, so little."

Cay turned his head to look at him but could see nothing but a silhouette in the darkness.

"Of course I wanted to tell you everything. And I wanted you to comfort me and tell me I am not such a bad fellow. But then I wasn't sure you would. Perhaps you would be unimpressed. Perhaps you would laugh at me and my feeble attempts to be a hero."

"I would not have laughed at you, Adrio."

"I didn't know. You seemed more like a stranger every day. Whenever I tried to speak of the Chende, of Muntegri, of your past, of anything, you changed the subject. You weren't even honest about the color of your hair. And when Gizon told me... It made no sense. It still makes no sense. But I couldn't imagine how he would know your name if there wasn't some truth to it. And by then, I was so shamed by you, and so angry with you. My heart was broken, and I could make no sense of anything you did."

They were lying side by side together in the big bed, and Cay was wretchedly silent.

Adrio had been in pain. Frightened and uncertain, he had needed him. Adrio always seemed so confident; he very nearly glowed with self-assurance. But he had needed a husband's care, and Cay had been no comfort to him. Cay had been too intent on keeping his secrets, blind to his husband's problems and unavailable to him in his need.

He had utterly failed his husband—it was a hard lesson to learn, but it was true. Cay had enjoyed the comfortable home Adrio had provided, spent his money, and savored his privilege while his husband had suffered alone.

They lay in silence for a while in the darkness, and then Cay said humbly, "I should have left months ago so you could start over. I'm sorry."

"Ah," whispered Adrio. "How can you say it?" His arms surrounded Cay, and he pulled him back against his chest, hugging him warmly, pressing his cheek to the side of Cay's neck. "Don't go. Don't go. Cay. I'm confused and surprised and confounded by you. The more I learn, the less I understand, but don't leave me, Cay."

"Why?" whispered Cay. "I have been so bad a husband. You should be delighted to be rid of me."

"As you want to be rid of me?"

Cay sniffled.

For so long, he'd wanted Adrio to talk to him, to hear Adrio apologize and ask him to stay. And now he had—but this sensation in Cay's gut wasn't happiness. It was anxiety. Because no matter what Adrio said now, Cay remembered the swan poem, the earrings, and the nights alone. The acid scorch of Adrio's contempt and the sickening bitterness of Adrio's regret. Adrio had hurt him, and he did not know how to trust him.

Maybe it was too broken. Maybe it was too late. Maybe... he was just too tired to think of a solution to this tangle.

Adrio kissed his neck. Then he did it again, his warm lips lingering on the sensitive skin under Cay's ear. He opened his mouth, kissing slowly and a little wetly now, and Cay shivered with a dizzying surge of pleasure and arousal. Unexpected, like stepping off a curb, a little swoop of surprise and excitement inside. Cay made a small noise, half-protest, and Adrio smiled against his skin.

"Are you—"

"Yes," whispered Adrio.

"But—" He broke off with a gasp when Adrio brushed his lips against the oval of his ear. Adrio knew he loved that.

"The last time," Cay began unsteadily, trying to think beyond the tingly delight of what Adrio was doing to his neck. "The last time, you didn't—"

"I don't like remembering the last time," Adrio growled, his voice low.

"You regretted it."

"I regretted being cruel. I despised myself because I wanted you but was too weak and confused to find a way to want you without hurting you."

Cay rolled over so they were face to face. "And what are you doing now?"

Though Adrio was almost invisible in the darkness, Cay imagined he was looking into his eyes. "That night I was drunk, and tired, and... and a fool. I hate to think that your last memory of us together is going to be that night."

Oh. Adrio wanted a last time to say goodbye? It would hurt so much when he left—would this make it hurt more, or less?

But of course he agreed, tipping his head, meeting Adrio's lips with his own. Adrio cupped his face, his thumb stroking over the apple of his cheek as they kissed, slow and deliberate.

Cay shivered again. They were going to make love like this, with this intentional tenderness. A goodbye lovemaking. His entire body was alive and singing with welcome, while his heart cringed at how much it was going to hurt.

Thankful for the darkness, Cay reached up and drew Adrio down to him.

How vulnerable Adrio had been tonight. Cay wished he could see him, but perhaps, without the darkness, Adrio wouldn't have been able to confess such weakness or beg Cay for this.

This time, Adrio's kiss was deep and almost rough, and a thready moan rumbled in the back of his throat. With eager hands, he stripped away Cay's nightshirt and then gripped his biceps, his forearm, his wrist, squeezing. Cay didn't want to think, only to feel; he freed his legs from the blankets and twined them around Adrio's hips, pulling him down with his legs, reveling in the weight and size of him. Adrio broke this kiss with a sharp gasp; bracing his weight on his arms, he rucked his hips, rubbing them together. The tail of Adrio's nightshirt was wadded between them, preventing perfect contact, but still, they could feel each other's erections through the bunched cloth. Exciting and gorgeous and not enough.

"I love your prick," whispered Adrio, surprising Cay into laughing.

Adrio pulled his shirt off over his head, then rolled them over so Cay was sprawled on top of him, his hands braced against Adrio's chest. They kissed again, laughing into it. Cay lined them up by feel, just so. Adrio kissed him needily, gripping his ass to hold him still while he thrust upward against Cay's belly.

Cay wanted more, wanted to be thoroughly penetrated and filled and overwhelmed by Adrio. But they didn't have any oil or ointment, so he just moved with Adrio, enjoying the catch and skid of skin against skin, the heat and humidity and imperfect roughness of it, the stutter of Adrio's breath, and the pressure of his hands.

And then Adrio's fingers were questing, suggesting, sending shivers over Cay's skin and making his toes curl. "Will you let me inside you, Cay?" he murmured.

Unseen in the darkness, he made a hunting-in-the-bedside-cabinet motion, familiar as an old friend. Except this was Ondrei's house. Ondrei did not fuck, nor, probably, equip his chambers for others to do so.

But Adrio had a bottle of almond-scented oil, and he was working its cork out as he kissed Cay, and Cay pulled back enough to murmur, "Where did that come from?"

Obviously, Adrio had brought it to this room. Borrowed it from Nesso or from a helpful servant, with a wink and a grin. There was a smile in Adrio's voice as he replied, "'Tis the intrepid horse, not the swift, that wins the race."

Cay sat up. "Is this ... Did you plan this, then?"

"You think I presumed?" whispered Adrio. "After the mistakes I've made, I presume nothing from you. But I have been stupid with wanting you, ever since you came for me in that bloody tower. Cay, do you want to stop?"

"No." That, at least he was certain of. "No, don't stop. Show me what you brought."

"Mm." Adrio's hands were on his thighs again, his hips. "It's too dark to show you. I'll have to let you feel..."

They kissed, sitting up in bed, and Cay lifted onto his knees to give Adrio's clever, oil-slicked fingers easier admittance. And soon enough, Cay sank downward onto Adrio's cock, the scent of almonds and arousal all around him.

He bit his lip at the burn and paused to adjust, loving the tightness and stretch.

"Oh, Cay."

Cay smiled in the darkness, concentrated on making his muscles relax, and sank voluptuously down on Adrio, seating him hard and full inside him. He began to move slowly and easily, feeling vulnerable and thrilled and loving how Adrio's heavy length opened him. So good. Adrio began to move with him, gently, pressing up with each of Cay's downstrokes, making them both gasp.

Adrio groaned, tightening his fingers.

They clenched and rocked and fucked, slow and oily and steady. A luxurious passionate grind, the kind they could make last for a long time. But they were too eager; Adrio gripped him tighter, and Cay rode him faster, and the old wooden bedframe began to creak in protest as they moved together. Cay arched his back, dropping backward to catch his weight on his hands, bracing himself crab-position while Adrio pumped up into him.

He had fallen into a trance of pleasure, wanting to finish but wanting to make it last. Wanting whatever Adrio wanted. Wanting to go on all night.

"More?"

"Please—"

Adrio heaved up, hauling Cay off. He threw Cay onto the bed, caught his legs and spread them wide, and pushed inside again. Deep and hard, deep enough to drive a high cry out of Cay's throat.

"All right?"

Cay made a wordless sound of surrender, and Adrio leaned over him, devouring his mouth in a kiss as he worked his hips, grunting with effort and need, pumping deeply into Cay, making him cry out and clench his fists in the bedding.

Cay was immobilized, impaled, flying with exhilaration as Adrio took him.

Perfect. Perfect.

Maybe it was because it had been so long. Maybe it was because this might be the last time. Maybe it was because, however much they argued and wrangled and hurt each other, their bodies meshed perfectly.

Maybe they were simply perfect together and always had been.

Later, at the edge of sleep, Cay heard Adrio murmur, "Oh, gods, how I miss you. Cay, my Cay, I don't want this to be the last time."

Cay sucked in a breath to reply—he knew not how.

"Ah, no, don't answer." Adrio's thumb brushed over his lips. "Don't say no. Please. Don't answer now—just sleep with me tonight, Cay, and don't say no until later."