He brushed gentle fingers over their jaw. “You looked exactly the same. As if you’d stumbled into a pocket of the Feywild where time bends, stayed for a single day, and come out ten years later. You looked like this, that last night in Baldur’s Gate.”
“When I snuck away in the night and you were dragged off by the Flaming Fist at dawn?”
Kell shrugged. “Details.”
Saeldian laughed.
“You look perfect,” Kell said, “and I want you just like this.”
Saeldian didn’t watchthe last grains fall. They stayed twined around Kell, memorizing how his back felt under their hands, breathing in time with him, feeling what it was like to breathe in his scent. His hair tickled the arm they’d threaded under his neck, and he stroked the length of Saeldian’s back.
They didn’t need to watch those last moments falling grain by grain. They knew when it was over from the way the wind in the trees sounded, the way the air coming through the opened vents under the eaves smelled ever so faintly of brewing beer.
The dream had ended, and it was time to wake.
Kell shifted first, lifting his arm to let them go. He’d already kissed their forehead. He’d already kissed his way down the point of their ear to breathe “I’ll always remember” against their earlobe. And then he settled them next to him and cuddled until their dream had to end.
He even let them have the upright bath first, and he put histrousers back on to take his turn. When he came out, he said, “It sounds like there’s a party.”
“Seems like a party is actually the normal.”
Kell moved to stand behind Saeldian at the mirror and the washbasin that would serve for cleaning faces and hands. He rubbed soap into his chin and unfolded his razor, then pulled his chin forward to shave.
“Are you going to hide away?”
“I should make an appearance,” Saeldian said. “Make a little merry.”
“And say goodbye.”
Saeldian could hear it in his voice—hope. He’d told them the truth of their pact. He’d told them what Osalor wouldn’t permit them to know about their…prayer to him, how every time, they’d thanked him for the thing that was hurting them the most. Osalor had betrayed Saeldian. They couldn’t deny it. Kell hoped that, after knowing the truth of it, Saeldian wouldn’t choose Osalor’s side.
The amulet felt so heavy. “Yes.”
Kell’s reflection studied them. “Your pact is still sealed?”
Saeldian dropped the amulet and flourished with one hand. Little sparks of light glittered and fell. “Still stronger than ever. I don’t understand it.”
Something in Kell’s eyes faded. “Maybe you can ask Osalor once you’re back at Righthoof Manor.”
“He’ll probably know the reason. But do you think he’ll tell me the truth?”
Kell stood still, soap still on his razor, and pretended to inspect his chin. “How long do you think you’ll stay there before you pack up and go?”
He swished the blade in the basin like it was just casual chatter.
Saeldian shook their head. “I don’t know.”
“Long enough to get guarantor letters for your vault—no. You’re giving Jubilee your key too.”
Saeldian had to look away. “I don’t need that much gold. More trouble than it’s worth having notes like that on the road.”
“The money won’t make up for it.”
“Probably not. It’ll still be money, though.”
Kell poured the water out and washed the last of the soap off his face. He laced up his clean white shirt and shrugged into the handsome embroidered vest he’d worn at the party. Then he studied Saeldian, and he looked so sad.
“I’m sorry.”
