Dorian huffed, but some of his fear ebbed away.
“There were magic users once who could use magic to make you feel certain ways. Not like controlling your emotions or anything. At least I don’t think so. More like touch. Touch with magic. For no other reason than to make someone feel good. Like sinking into a warm bath. I wish we hadn’t let so much of that go. The old magic, I mean. Sometimes I think that we’ve done as much to hurt ourselves as the rebels.”
“You really are a bad soldier, aren’t you?”
“Healer, not soldier.” Hadrian sighed. “But yes, probably. I am done now.”
“What?”
“I’m done. With the healing. It wasn’t anything major really. That wound in your shoulder causing a little trouble. It’s all sorted now.”
Dorian opened his dark eyes and looked up at Hadrian.
“I’m… the fever is gone?”
“Yes. You will be tired again, but not as much as before. We will both need rest and food again.”
The sun had gone down and the little house was darkening quickly around them, softening the hard lines ofDorian’s handsome face. Hadrian suddenly longed to reach out and touch him. The need was so great, he started to get up to stop the temptation.
“Wait,” Dorian said, and laid a hand on his arm. He didn’t look at Hadrian, just stared at his hand on his tunic.
“Sometimes healing can make for terribly fitful sleep,” Hadrian said matter-of-factly. “And it is not wise to get a chill after having a fever.” He turned and crawled over Dorian’s legs. When Dorian didn’t protest, he lay down behind him on the narrow bed. “It is probably best I stay here and make sure you stay warm and covered.”
Dorian shifted away from him enough to pull the blanket from between them, then held it up. Hadrian smiled as he scooted closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of the other man. Close enough to want to pull him in and bury his face in his dark hair.
“I once had to sleep on the plains for three days,” Hadrian said. “In the middle of winter. It was terrible. We practically slept on top of each other like cords of wood. Do you think the plains were ever really splendid, or was that just some haughty name someone gave to a muddy valley? I always wondered.”
“My mother told me the valley was covered in grass that looked blue under the noon sun,” Dorian said. His shoulders relaxed as he laid his head on the pillow.
“That does sound pretty splendid. I bet it could be again. The ground remembers what once was. Not in a weird, mystic way. But there’s usually roots if something has been there for a long time. Like a field that has been farmed for generations with the same crop. Even if it’s left untended, choked out by other things, there will be remnants of what was for a long time after. I bet the blue grass could grow again if we stopped trampling everything for five minutes.”
“Uh huh,” Dorian mumbled.
“There are magic gardens in the capital that still remember the things that grew there, even if they haven’t been tended since before the war. The flowers and vines are everywhere now. The paths taken over. We’re not supposed to mess with the magic there because it’s just magic for magic’s sake, but sometimes I go there and fiddle.”
“Of course you do,” Dorian huffed sleepily. “And they call us rebels.”
“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone that needs healing in the frostlilies. Your archers aren’t that good. There are waterfalls there that are wondrous. I can’t do a thing with them, of course. I don’t even know how water magic works. But they are everywhere. Not just flowing down either. They go sideways and up and wind through the vines. Leaves nearly everything wet, but when the sun shines through the windows, there are rainbows everywhere. The whole place smells like green things and rain.”
Hadrian watched Dorian’s broad back as he spoke. By the time he was done, his breath was deep and even—his body finally relaxed in sleep. Hadrian didn’t think he’d be able to relax completely in this position, but that was fine. He was right where he wanted to be. He smiled and laid down his head.
5
Dorian woke up feeling better than he had in days. Still not what he would call well, but definitely better. Certainly better than he had the night before, when the fever took hold.
Even the thought of it brought bile to his throat again. Brought the fear that had been in him even longer than the fear of the mages. The fear of the enemy that now slept in the same bed with him. But that thought didn’t bring fear any longer, if it ever really had with Hadrian. It brought memories of a beautiful face framed by blonde curls, gentle hands, and a voice that soothed even his deepest fears. Hadrian had seen him at his worst, at his most vulnerable, and only sought to comfort—to heal.
How could he fear that? How was that the enemy? Why did his people fight this war? Had they really lied? Had the mages changed over the years? If Hadrian had been there when his parents—
That brought back too many memories. Too many fears Dorian didn’t want to relive. He shifted, hoping to wake Hadrian. Hoping he would start talking again. But when he turned his head, the bed was empty except for him.
A new fear took root in his chest. What if the mage had left? Dorian didn’t feel well, but he was better. He could probably recover on his own now with time. Maybe Hadrian had figured he’d done enough. Maybe he’d seen Dorian last night and decided it wasn’t worth staying to care for him longer. He’dbe better off leaving Dorian behind. He was an outcast now. Dead weight.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
Hadrian walked in from a small doorway at the back of the room, smiling, and Dorian was sure he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Weak, filtered sunlight made his curls glow around his face. He had different clothes on. A thin white shirt and linen breeches that hugged his long legs.
“I thought you might like a bath,” Hadrian said. “Then I’ll fix something to eat. There’s some leftover broth there on the table, but it didn’t do a thing for me.”
