Page 19 of The Scent of the Ideal

Rafi couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Me? You’re the one hiding your….”

Viau flicked his wrist, bringing his sword into a lowered-but-ready position. “Yes? There’s something you think I’m hiding? Something you’ve noticed that no one else has?”

Rafi’s entire body flooded with embarrassment, first at his arrogant assumption, and then for the realization that Viau’s silky tone might have been intended to goad him.

“I didn’t assume that no one else had…. Are you provoking me?” Even Katoh didn’t tease Rafi like that, nipping at him while watching his face with ravenous interest. “So I won’t ask? Or to get me to spar again?” Viau raised his eyebrows and didn’t answer. His aer was gone and Rafi couldn’t tell if he continued to rumble, but Rafi was a fool for assuming he had done something special. Maybe he’d just been better than boredom. “I shouldn’t press,” Rafi insisted immediately, feeling as he had with a blanket over his head. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked away so not all of him would be so obvious, only to realize he was still backed against the pillar and posed as though waiting for instruction.

Or Viau’s return.

“Your aer,” Viau remarked, quiet, noticing before Rafi did that Rafi was reaching out to draw more aer to him. Rafi had barely sucked in a breath when a calm, firm presence settled into place over him, ending his careless slip right there.

Rafi glanced around the room without meeting any eyes, not sure anyone had seen him reach with his aer aside from Viau.

Viau watched Rafi try to calm himself. “Is that your control problem? Usually, it’s that people forget to watch their own aer, or spend it recklessly and exhaust themselves. That’s the third time I’ve seen you draw more to you without seeming to realize you’re doing it. That is the sort of thing done when someone intends to use that aer, usually for reasons important enough to weaken the spirits of those around them. But you’re no mage. So, why?”

He was more curious than disapproving, which made him quite different from Instructor Lin, who had witnessed Rafi lose control that way several months ago and sent him off to mandatory meditation once a day. Which had told Rafi the problem was potentially serious, but not actually helped him stop it.

Rafi could hardly pretend that wasn’t the issue with the one person who could see what Rafi had done more clearly than Rafi could.

“It’s not all the time. But yes.” Without his conscious direction as some mages did, he pulled aer that was not his to him. He didn’t even do anything with it. He had never been taught to manipulate it for anything other than minor healing, or calming himself down, or pushing around small items, as all swersoldi were taught to meditate and feel their aer and allow it to grow strong. He didn’t need the added strength of aer from the trees or the sky or his friends, yet, for reasons he didn’t understand, his control would falter and he’d draw in whatever was nearest.

“Do you have control now?” Viau released his hold on Rafi as if he already knew the answer. “You’re strong. Your instructors shouldn’t have let this become a problem. At minimum, they should have taught you to do something useful with the aer you gather if you can’t stop reaching for it.”

Rafi gave in to the urge to rub his shoulder and tried to imagine pulling in aer deliberately to heal himself all in one go, instead of using aer to facilitate faster healing. Strong spirit meant a strong body, meant healing faster. Any healers who could sense and manipulate aer also learned how to use it speed up healing, although the level of strength required to heal deep wounds would have meant a mage. And mages did not seem to care about health. At least not the health of swersoldi. Probably just kings and dukes and such.

“I’m not that strong.” Rafi was going to bruise but at least Viau would walk around with a bruise from Rafi too. “If I were, someone would have said.”

Viau raised his eyebrows but didn’t speak. Again.

He held back all the time, in ways Rafi hadn’t even commented on. And he wasn’t especially mannerly either. At least, he wasn’t always so.

“That is why no one else would do for you,” Viau asked, though it didn’t really sound like a question. But he didn’t give Rafi a chance to press the matter. He bowed his head and said, “Would you like to do this again? That is, do you mind some more bruises and having so many eyes on you?”

Rafi jolted, then looked beyond Viau to the students watching him stare up at Viau like a moonstruck first-year.

But Viau was waiting, so Rafi looked back to him. A bold person like Katoh would challenge Viau in reply, say something like, Are you so sure I’d be the one to get bruised?

Rafi said, “I don’t mind. The bruises or the… the rest of it. Is it strange to say it was fun?”

That got him a grin, light and charming, making Viau look like a handsome final-year with a bright future. “So, you want to, then?” he asked, and this was clearly a question, and a careful one at that.

Rafi spent a moment lost in Viau’s bed, with his knees bent and Viau deep inside him and his fingers digging into Rafi’s thighs, the side of his hip, then back of his neck when Rafi had whined until he was turned and forced down to be taken from that angle. Rafi liked it that way, he’d discovered. Viau had been most obliging.

Rafi darted his gaze away. “I don’t mind the bruises,” he said again. He wasn’t sure they were still talking about sparring, then wasn’t sure it mattered. He might intend to control himself and find someone else, but he wouldn’t mind being back in Viau’s bed. No, he wanted to be there. That wasn’t at all the same thing as not minding.

But he missed whatever Viau would have said in answer when Instructor Guen yelled at them again—this time for standing there and doing nothing, and Viau went over to Guen with a pretty smile, probably to smooth the matter over, and Katoh and Laure swooped upon Rafi to exclaim over his sparring match.

Then Rafi had to leave to clean and dress for an afternoon course on etiquette around the royal family and did not speak to Viau again.

Chapter Seven

Rafi assumed that was the last he’d hear of the subject of sparring with Viau, and possibly the last he’d ever speak to Viau unless he failed to solve his control problem before his next aedis. That Viau had noted the nature of the problem was helpful, at least. It suggested that Rafi ought to find some new tools to manage it until he figured out how to stop it. It also suggested that most of his instructors would be no good in that area, since it had taken someone as skilled with aer as Viau to even see the issue.

He considered consulting a mage, but that would take money he didn’t have. A healer was the next best option, since they did use aer for purposes other than strengthening one’s own spirit or hopefully deflecting a sword just enough. Or Viau, whom Rafi still suspected also used aer more than most did. But that was trading one help from Viau for another, and Rafi wasn’t entirely certain where he stood with him.

Not that he needed to stand anywhere with him, or expected to, even if half of the academy students and one or two instructors seemed to think Viau was now a friend of his. Friend with heat-related benefits, perhaps, but not anything as intimate as lovers. Because the truth was, no matter how Rafi felt around Viau, they were at best somewhat friendly. Viau was… well not polite. Not as polite as stories said—though, no, that wasn’t right. Viau was incredibly polite to nearly everyone. It was Rafi he’d provoked.

But he’d liked the result so maybe that was how Viau was with those he was closer to. Maybe he teased, and sparred hard enough to hurt on purpose, and said odd things. Rafi didn’t know any poets or playwrights, but he’d heard tales about actors. Perhaps in Viau’s circles full of brilliant artists and outsiders, one simply talked like that.