Herbs drying from the rafters perfumed the space with lavender, a far cry from the dried blooms sewn inside linen squares found in the marketplace to sweeten clothes chests.
“It’s not much.” Peter inspected the floor, prompting Martin to follow suit. Plain brown boards smoothed by seasons of foot travel. A worn rag rug took up space by the bed, easier on the feet during cold winter morns than wood.
“I’m not here to see your room.” Kissing Peter seemed both stupid and the best idea ever. No need to fight. Martin wanted this man for more reasons than he cared to name. The cards had spoken. He’d worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
Until then, he’d make the most of the hours until dawn.
He melded himself to Peter, taking in the scent of ale and smoked meat, soap, and sweat. Honest sweat from an honest day’s work.
Peter’s hands weren’t soft, he didn’t smell of perfume, and his clothes’ rough fabric would chafe the sensitive skin of some of the upper city lovers Martin had taken.
For Martin, a hunter, the soft life held no appeal, nor pretty, stylish fops with practiced words and empty promises. Good enough for a tumble, but nothing he’d keep around.
Once more, Peter cupped Martin’s face in rough hands, brushing a light touch of lips across Martin’s.
Martin melted into the kiss, fumbling with Peter’s shirt. The soft rustle of fabric sounded abnormally loud in the otherwise quiet room.
The lantern painted the ridges and muscles of Peter’s body in shadows and light.
Martin ran his hand over Peter’s shoulders and chest, exploring, sending feather-light touches over smooth skin, raising goose flesh, or slowing his progress to explore the long scar on Peter’s shoulder. He froze, attention riveted to Peter’s face.
The scar.
Like a spell breaking, Martin finally saw, truly saw the man before him. Why hadn’t he known before? Something as plain as the nose on his face.
Because, my little mage, now the time is right. Eyes kept closed will now open.
The realization sent Martin reeling. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall. “Petran? I… I thought you were dead. They said… they said they’d killed the entire crew of theSeabird.”
Peter gave him a sad smile. “I thought maybe you didn’t remember me. Or didn’t want to. We didn’t know each other long, and I wasn’t sure it was you. My mind clouded when I thought of you.” He waved a hand, indicating Martin’s body. “You’ve changed.”
”As have you. Oh, damnation, Petran. I thought you were dead!” Martin pulled Peter to him, burying his face in Peter’s neck.
Peter wrapped Martin in his arms, holding him through the sobs. “Shh… I didn’t go directly back to the ship that day. My da and the crew were arrested while I wandered the streets.” He ran a finger over Martin’s cheek. “For many moons, I stayed hidden, until taking work here. I didn’t know if you’d forgotten me or didn’t want to admit we’d known each other, or if it was really you… Arkenn.”
Shock. Horror. All the seasons Martin dreamed of this man, of a horrible end. They held each other, loneliness dissolving like they’d never been apart.
“It really is you.” Martin gave Peter one last hard embrace and pulled back. “Your hair…” He touched a dark curl.
“Dyed. Addie found me, took pity on me, cut my hair, told me to leave the city. But…” Peter cast his gaze downward. “But I couldn’t leave E’Skaara, not when I stood even a small chance of meeting you again. I found work. A purpose.”
“Addie said you were born here in E’Skaara. That you were her nephew.”
Peter gave a sly smile. “That’s what she’s said since the day we met. To protect me.”
Captain Jaed Three-fingers had foretold Martin being drawn to Petran—Peter. And he had been. He simply hadn’t understood at the time.
The time wasn’t right.
“I wasn’t sure if I recognized you, but even if it was you, I didn’t know if you wanted to acknowledge once being friends with a pirate.”
“Not a pirate. You were never a pirate.” Martin lifted the charm hanging from Peter’s neck, similar to his own and the one his mother once wore.
Similar to the one the barmaid wore.
Mage-born. Peter was mage-born and wore an amulet designed to hide him from those who might otherwise sense his magic.
Which might be why Martin hadn’t recognized him. Then again, Dmitri’s words implied the Father blinded Martin to the truth. If he’d known about Petran before, they might have fled someplace safe.
