Page 23 of The Scent of the Ideal

Rafi had responded by dropping low to stab Viau in the meat of his thigh, and though the move was graceless and he toppled over an exposed tree root afterward, the look of outraged betrayal on Viau’s face made it worth his ultimate loss.

He won the next bout, although in a judged fight with instructors there, he might not have. Viau didn’t mind.

“Nobody announces when they’ll attack you,” he said from the ground, after dying like one of Bellai’s stage actors by falling to his knees and then calling out for Caia and his mother until some of the passersby applauded. He was very pleased with himself, grinning up at Rafi when Rafi peered down at him. “Unless they are very stupid. And we did say no rules.”

That was not what they’d said. Rafi helped him up without arguing about it, not even crowing over his victory because it felt like cheating to spring on him before they’d technically begun their fight, when Viau had been nodding to someone on one of the paths.

Viau had gotten his sword up. Just not in time.

“I’m teaching you all sorts of bad habits,” he lamented, albeit not very seriously. “Although, if you are ever in a duel,” he paused there, maybe for how Rafi’s eyes widened, “be mindful. Dueling is allegedly about honor but when it comes down to it, if the duel is already illegal, many feel committed to spill blood. So do not turn your back or let your guard down. I’d hate for the world to lose you.”

“Noted,” Rafi told him faintly, stunned at the idea of anyone challenging him, which was the only way he would ever be in such a situation. Rafi certainly wasn’t going to challenge anyone.

“You are thinking, perhaps, ‘Why would anyone challenge me?’ and the answer is: usually drink and a hot head, combined with a young noble with nothing better to do.” Viau sighed. “Sobering up convinces many of them to politely apologize or pretend it never happened. Which is something, a sign of some sense.”

“I’ve never witnessed one, a duel or a challenge.”

Viau pulled at his shirt to consider the mark over his ribs, shrugging as he did. “Of course not. You seem to have made sensible friends.”

“Did you really…?” Rafi didn’t finish the question. “It’s not my business.”

Viau made a small scoffing sound as he looked up. “With the rumors about us circulating here at the moment, some would say it is your business.” Rafi snapped his mouth closed. Viau’s face showed nothing. “And yes, I have. More times than people know of. Not once by choice. It’s why I avoid the pubs and wine shops where students and careless young nobles go. I think many of them want to prove themselves by fighting a…” his mouth twisted, “legend. Someone known. Things have become much easier since I took to befriending actors and playwrights. They don’t want to duel.”

“And poets?” Rumors said Viau was a poet. Though rumors also said he and Rafi were lovers, and that was only partly true.

“Poets, unfortunately, often do. And are terrible at it. I wish people could simply get in fights instead,” Viau said wistfully. “One can live through a black eye and wounded pride. One cannot live through a blade to the heart or stomach.”

“Sorry.” Rafi put his practice sword under his arm to gesture to Viau’s bruised chest.

He got a quick smile for it. “Don’t be. I much prefer this sort of dueling. They probably would too, if they thought of it. Get their energy out.”

“Might be another good use for the academy,” Rafi supposed aloud. “Give hotheaded young nobles a place to exhaust themselves.”

“Exactly.” Viau beamed at him. “I knew you’d understand the king’s vision.”

That was news to Rafi, who tried not to give a start. He really needed to learn how to control his reactions better. It didn’t matter that Viau was special; if he could learn to read Rafi’s face, anyone could.

He didn’t think he’d fooled Viau this time, though. He wasn’t sure he ever would. Viau had already seen Rafi at his most needy and unaware.

Rafi cleared his throat. They were standing a few feet from each other. “Did you want to go again?”

“Normally, yes. But I admit to being tired this morning, and a little worried that I hit you too hard.”

Rafi immediately looked down as he rolled his shoulder to test it.

“As I suspected,” Viau continued as though Rafi’s silence had told him something. Then he stepped away to where he’d left a bag over by the fountain. Rafi wasn’t sure if he ought to follow, but his dithering didn’t matter since Viau came right back. “I’ve brought something to help. Shirt off or pull it down over your shoulder.”

He’d reminded Rafi more than once that he was not an instructor and wasn’t there to scold or take charge. Then he gave orders. Nice orders, but orders. Rafi didn’t have to obey them, yet he did. He tugged his shirt down over his shoulder, expecting a close exam and to be told to go to the healers, which he wouldn’t, since it was only a bruise. A deeper bruise now, but still just a bruise.

Instead, Viau revealed a small clay pot with a stopper in the palm of his hand. A powerful herbal scent wafted up when he opened it.

“I don’t need….”

Viau put his free hand at the top of Rafi’s shoulder and looked down, not remarking on Rafi’s sudden silence or careful breathing. He didn’t speak at all, actually.

“You said only your bruises.” Rafi exhaled it, then twitched. “That is, it’s the kind of thing anyone might get while training. I don’t mind them.”

“And the sore muscles underneath?” Viau pulled his hand away to reach for whatever herbal mix was in the pot. “There are solutions to make bruises fade faster but this is not one of them. This mark will be visible for a while, for anyone who cares to look.”