Blaine turned away from the window he’d been peering out of and the gardens beyond, the flowers somewhat withered beneath the summer sun. “Nothing like the gardens in Glencoe.”
Honovi arched an eyebrow. “Did you see the guards on duty?”
“You mean the soldiers? Yes, I saw them.”
“You don’t seem surprised they’re here.”
“The Auclair bloodline was the oldest bloodline left after the Inferno and wholly dedicated to Ashion over Daijal. It made sense the military would rally around the duchess.”
“I thought she called Amari home?”
“The Auclairs have lived here since before their names were written in the nobility genealogies. It was always the place we were to retreat to in the event everything went to pieces.” Blaine shrugged stiffly. “I suppose a revenant incursion and the framing of the Clockwork Brigade counts toward that.”
Honovi waved him over, and Blaine went willingly, happily, even. His husband was still in his flight leathers, the plaid of Clan Storm curled over his shoulders on the panels there. His shirt collar was open, revealing the marriage torc settled around his throat. The glint of gold drew Blaine’s eye, and he was viscerally aware of the absence of his own. He knew it was kept safe back in Glencoe, but he missed it all the same.
Honovi caught his wrist once he was close and tried to tug Blaine onto his lap, but Blaine resisted. “You’re still hurt.”
“I’m healed enough.”
Blaine firmly shook his head before sinking to his knees between his husband’s spread legs, hooking one hand around an ankle. Honovi looked down at him with hooded brown eyes, his neatly braided hair hanging over one shoulder. A beaded leather ribbon was twined through it, anchoring the metal hair adornments scattered down its length. Blaine had combed and braided Honovi’s hair last night and shaved both sides of his skull in the privacy of the captain’s quarters of the airship, relishing in the task.
It had been something Blaine had missed during his years spent in Amari—the habits of clan, of family, of sleeping beside his husband after so long sleeping alone. His second language, which had become his first, was always there at the back of his throat, ready to shape his tongue to the rolling sound of E’ridian than the sharpness of Ashionen. Shaking off the persona he had lived out of duty for a truth Honovi had kept safe for him was a little like a valley flower unfurling after a harsh winter.
“Lore said she’d send for the doctor once she got everyone settled. She’s in charge until her mother gets here, and opening up the estate after a long time away requires some dedicated work,” Blaine said.
“The servants seemed capable enough.”
“So did Siv. Lore’s being discreet, but she needs to check for signs ofrionetkas.”
Honovi grimaced, lifting a hand to brush back the shorter strands of Blaine’s hair with bare fingers, his gloves tucked away in a pocket. “Everyone can’t be arionetka.”
“I won’t take that risk, and neither will Lore.”
“What about Caris?”
“She’s staying in the room given her. She said she wanted to be alone for a while.”
“You chose not to guard her?”
“She’s safe enough here. Besides, she made it clear she’s still angry. The chat we had on the airship made that clear enough.”
Honovi’s fingers dragged down the side of Blaine’s face, palm pressing flat against his cheek. “She had your veil when we disembarked. I don’t like your face being on display like this.”
“Lore didn’t bring extra from the stores in Amari. We left in a hurry, and Caris needs it more than I do.”
“Your warrant is still active.”
“We’ll have to hope the Auclairs have a firm grip on the servants here, won’t we? If any debt collectors come knocking, she’ll run them off.”
He’d made the right choice, he knew. The stack of broadsheets that had been handed to Lore upon their arrival at the estate by a cog had offered up a sobering reality. The printed picture of Caris wielding starfire against peacekeepers had been on the front page of every single one, and it’d only been a handful of days since they’d left Amari.
From what the cog had said, with Caris safely hidden behind the veil, the press was painting her as equal parts a savior and a threat. Her presence alone was a crack in Eimarille’s plans to rule, and that meant she was both a prize and a target. Blaine wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was in the same category as Caris, but he was the only one who could stand as witness and prove her ties to the Rourke bloodline.
Right now, the public couldn’t know that either of them resided in the Auclair bloodline’s ancestral estate. How long their presence would stay a secret without the interference of a magician with mind magic was anyone’s guess.
“The Auclair bloodline can’t keep you safe forever, not even here,” Honovi said.
Honovi didn’t ask Blaine to come home with him to Glencoe, though his lips thinned in displeasure. They both knew Blaine would go home if a decree by the Dusk Star didn’t keep his road pointing at Caris.
