In hindsight, Griff had probably gone overboard by baking Liam’s favorite cake just to cushion the blow before telling him about the trip.
It was no one’s birthday or anniversary, yet there he was, wearing nothing but his underwear and the really cute apron with the daises on it that never failed to make Liam smile. He was counting on that smile before he spilled the news of what he had agreed to tonight, what he’d been thinking about constantly ever since, so it was a good thing he had somehow managed to make it home before his boyfriend.
Of course he was going. Because while he knew better than to trust everything Mal said, he was familiar with at least a few of the treasures in that legendary pile sunk deep in the Mire—the benefits of his education in Stormveil. There were crowns that supposedly still carried the might and will of their rulers. A lyre strung with the hairs of some long-extinct beast that played the purest notes. And, more importantly, a pair of gleaming silver vambraces, crafted by elven healers more powerful than any left alive today, that could cure any effects of magical poisons. Which,he suspected, was exactly why he hadn’t fully healed in the first place. If he could find those vambraces, he could finally be free of this staggering pain—if not the nightmares—and join the ranks of his friends as the Warden he was born to be.
Besides, Mal had come to him. Mal had asked for him, no matter whose idea it was to begin with. And while Mal might be a liar and a crook, Mal was also Mal, and Griff would follow him anywhere and keep him safe. It was what he did. He could never bear the thought of a world without Mal, demons and all.
Because while the Mal who had returned from Thrallkeld was a bully (if there had been a competition for Meanest Mouth in Mayfair, Mal certainly would have won) and his favorite activity was picking on everything about Griff, he had also glimpsed something of the old Mal tonight. The old Mal, who didn’t hate him. Who wasn’t full of insults and stinging indifference. Mal who was endlessly curious, Mal who had the highest hopes for this life of anyone Griff had ever met, self-possessed and confident in a way Griff had always admired. Mal who included Griff in his big dreams and held out his hand to call him to another adventure, forever seeking. Mal, whose loyal heart never wavered, a heart he showed to few.
Mal, who Griff had called a traitor for where he worked, when what he hadn’t been brave enough to say was that he only felt betrayed by Mal kissing some girl instead of him. He had really screwed that one up, and Mal had never received a single one of the letters he’d sent from Stormveil trying to make it right. Words he hadn’t wanted to hear by the time they both found their way back home. Not that saying sorry ever fixed anything.
Maybe Griff had been the Meanest Mouth in Mayfair back then.
The front door swung open, pulling Griff away from thoughts of glittering coins and dark-gold hair more precious than any metal.
Liam barely cracked a smile when he trudged in late from work to the cozy sight of his boyfriend in the kitchen, bringing in a light chill and the smoke of other fires that clung to his clothes and hair.
Instead, caution mingled with curiosity on the locksmith’s face as he hung up his cloak and made his way into the kitchen, where he watched Griff pop the cake tins in the oven before sliding his arms around the foreman and growling hopefully into the almost-elfin curve of his ear: “Could you please explain what exactly we’re celebrating, babe?”
“You,” Griff answered immediately, turning to catch Liam’s lips hard with his own. Against them, he added, “Us.”
It was a good answer, good enough apparently to inspire Liam to kiss Griff’s neck until Griff was sure he would be sporting some marks in the shape of his mouth there come morning. Unable to ignore the guilt writhing in his gut any longer, he cleared his throat. After all, he didn’t have much time to explain. He would be leaving in just a few hours, and Liam was bound to see the pack sitting at the foot of their bed soon enough.
Liam’s gray eyes, the same shape as Mal’s but sprinkled with violet, peered worriedly into Griff’s. “Really, though. Did I miss an important date or something?”
“No, it’s not that. You never do. It’s—I saw Mal tonight,” he began. Gods, why was it so hard to find the words even though he’d been practicing? When Liam pulled out of his embrace, Griff didn’t fight to keep him there, giving him the space he clearly wanted. His arms dropped to his sides. “I mean, he came to see me.”
“Fuck,” Liam said passionately, and not in the usual way.
Even with the warmth given off by the stove, their hearth blazing, and the kisses they had just shared, the locksmith gave a little shiver, as if the chill of the night had snuck in and foundhim again. “Explain,” he urged as Griff fidgeted with a fraying thread on the bottom of the daisy apron, desperate to do something with his empty hands.
“Right.” Griff swallowed audibly. “Well, he’s going on a trip. A business trip. He said it shouldn’t take more than four weeks at most, and … he’s asked me to come with him—in an official capacity, of course. As a healer.” He gazed steadily, if warily, at Liam as he explained, willing him to understand. “We leave at first light.”
“No,” the locksmith said simply, firmly, as if that settled the matter. “You’re not going.”
“Alys will be there too. All three of us,” Griff continued, determined to get through all he had to say, as if he hadn’t heard Liam’s outright denial so soon into the telling. “You like her. You know her. She wouldn’t let him hurt—”
“Hurt you? You think he’s going to hurt you? What, like Alys is going to have to draw her blade to save you from tripping and falling right onto his dick?” Liam abruptly strode out of the kitchen, apparently seeking more distance and startling a dozing Badger into opening a hopeful eye in search of crumbs.
“I don’t trust anything about Mal, and you know that,” the locksmith continued hotly from the living room. “And now, after several really good months of not having to hear about him, you’re bringing that fucking name into our house again when you’re not half asleep.”
As Liam rattled around in a drawer somewhere, Griff walked slowly, sheepishly, out of the kitchen. Still, he gave his boyfriend the space he sought, stopping to lean against the kitchen entryway and going no farther.
He blinked when he realized Liam had a pair of scissors in hand, his heart giving an unpleasant lurch as the locksmith held them up to his bright-gold locks just beneath his ear. “What if I cut my hair? It won’t be the same length as Mal’s anymore. Will you still love me then? What else of mine is the same length as Mal’s? Well?”
The cake had been a mistake, clearly. This was going worse than Griff could possibly have imagined. Still, he held fast to his calm in the face of Liam’s anger. He had plenty of practice at that, thanks to Mal.
“It’s not going to be like that,” he assured his sweet boyfriend, who had a remarkably sour look on his face, scissors still held aloft. “Not at all. Not ever. For one, as far as I know, Mal only likes women. He had some on-again, off-again girlfriend for years. Sage or Saffron or something. More importantly, Mal hates me, remember? He only asked me because Alys insisted. He doesn’t really want me there.”
Which was more or less true. Griff had said it, and Mal hadn’t denied it, anyway.
“Good! So listen to him, then, if you won’t listen to me, and don’t fucking go,” Liam pleaded lowly. “It isn’t going to end well, for anyone.”
Under the table where he had been napping, Badger once again raised his head and sniffed, this time as if searching for a threat. His coppery gaze landed on something near the window behind Griff and stayed there. He wagged his tail uncertainly.
Hardly noticing what had caught the dog’s attention in the heat of the moment, his voice growing quieter with regret, Griff insisted, “I have to, though. He asked. And I couldn’t live with myself if he got hurt. Please, Liam, don’t you see?”
“I don’t, no,” Liam said flatly in a terrific imitation of Mal. “And I don’t see who exactly is going to healyouif you’re in trouble. Certainly not some fucking scammer who preys on old women. You know how much trouble Rose is in for coming down here, you read her letter—there’s no way she can save you a second time.”
