He trudged through the streets to the temples. How different now. No gaslights. No people about. The dock areas were the hardest hit. Many a night worker had lost their lives.
“Yo! Martin!”
Gery Enys stood in the doorway of the Father’s temple. Martin’s heart gave a joyous leap, and he swept his old mentor into a tight embrace. They clung to each other for several moments. No, Martin hadn’t lost everything. Finally, he stepped back, discreetly wiping his eyes with the back of one gritty hand. “Good eve to you, Commander Enys.”
“Good eve, Martin. Esmerla asks about you.” Enys paused. “And a few of my nieces. At least one nephew. You must have dinner with us some night.” His craggy face lit with a grin—a weary, forced grin, a shadow of its former self, hiding the horrors in old, familiar conversations.
How many nephews and nieces survived? Martin dared not ask. The pain would be too new, too raw. Dinner with Enys sounded too normal to fit into Martin’s bizarre, abstract world. “I’ll do that,” he said, wondering if he lied. “And thank Esmerla for the invitation.”
They chatted, comparing details of the past few days. When the conversation wound down, Martin started to walk away.
“Wait!” Enys shuffled over in his battle-worn leathers. “I hear you saved us. That none of us would have a home if not for you.”
“I didn’t act alone.” Martin didn’t want to admit how thoroughly outmatched he’d been. If he traveled with Dmitri, maybe he’d learn enough magic to hold his own next time or prevent the next time from ever happening.
“Still, we owe you a debt.” No mention was made about being mage-born. Though mages used their talents openly now, for the good of all, like the embarrassing uncle at the family dinner, no one broached the topic.
“I’m forever in your debt for finding me my first day in the city and bringing me to the guards, where I learned to fight.”
“I knew a born guard when I saw one.” Enys winked. “I also recognized a young man with nowhere to go. You got a home. I gained a soldier.”
“Wait! That first day. You said you waited for your nephew. There was no nephew, was there?”
Enys smiled, warm, guileless, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I wondered if you’d ever catch on.” He clapped Martin on the back. “Esmerla will be highly upset if you don’t come to dinner soon.”
Martin turned away but called over his shoulder, “I will.”
He’d barely entered the Father’s temple when Addie skidded to a stop in front of him, tendrils of gray-streaked hair falling from under her cap. “There you are! Hurry, you must come!” She yanked Martin’s arm until he followed her toward the back.
Straight to his quarters. And the pale form covered in blankets on his bed.
“Peter!” Martin rushed forward.
Addie held him back. “Not yet. He needs rest.”
Damnation! Was this Sige or Peter? Martin collapsed onto the edge of the bed and clutched one pale hand in his. So cold. So still. He looked up to find himself alone in the room with a man who might or might not be his lover. The lines that Martin hadn’t noticed before surrounded Peter’s eyes. Martin longed for those long lashes to lift, revealing the soul-deep intensity of dark eyes. To see that wry twist of lips when Peter tried not to laugh.
Peter had returned. Like he said he would.
But who washe?
Chapter Forty-six
Blinkingafewtimesdidn’t remove the sting from Peter’s eyes.
“Martin!” he heard a woman’s voice call. He knew that voice, didn’t he?
Tired. So tired. Peter lifted his hand a fraction. It fell back to whatever he lay on. His hand rose again, this time without any effort on his part. Warm fingers wrapped around his. “Peter! Peter, is that you?”
Martin? Martin! Here! Alive! Lacking the energy to reply, Peter simply squeezed. The connection between them, tenuous of late, bloomed to full life.
There are always two.
Soft lips brushed his knuckles, driving back the cold desolation of the past however many seasons. “I’ve worried so much about you. Are you okay?”
The concern in the voice made Peter push out the words: “Fine. Tired. Hungry.”
“Addie. Can you get him something to eat?”
