Page 56 of The Scent of the Ideal

“Rafi?” Katoh’s voice held a hint of anxiety.

“I am the only little one,” Rafi said, bringing a blush to his face. He looked over at Viau despite that. “Unless you are a liar, Viau di Ruzé.”

More than one gasp could be heard in their immediate area, followed by unsubtle whispers. Rafi’s words were not far from a challenge, and not for a playful spar in a courtyard.

Viau stilled, as did Daloit in the distance behind him, and many of his third-years.

“I’m no liar, Rafeli Tizzan,” Viau answered, gaze locked on Rafi.

Rafi’s thighs trembled, then his knees, although he didn’t allow himself to falter. “Truly?”

With any other noble, that doubt of Viau’s honor might have brought on a real challenge.

Viau drew his brows together, pressed his lips flat, then smoothed the frown away. “How could there be another one? I told you I was caught. In vines or a storm, it does not matter.”

Rafi chose vines and reached, yet could not feel the touch of Viau’s aer. He untied the padded shirt he wore and pulled it over his head, his movements jerky.

“Rafi.” Viau spoke softly. “Is your anger directed at me at last? Have I harmed you?”

Katoh stared at him, not showing any surprise to hear Rafi called angry. Maybe he was though he didn’t feel any fire. But maybe he should. Maybe they all should, every unwanted person drawing breath on academy grounds, including Viau.

“If this is a game for sweethearts, I don’t know how to play it,” Rafi admitted, bringing a look of concern to Viau’s face. He appeared ready to cluck his tongue and sweep Rafi into his arms. Rafi narrowed his eyes to hold him still. “If you aren’t going to be honest with me, then you are a liar, and you don’t think of me how you say you do.”

Viau was stricken. “Rafi.”

“If you won’t accept my challenge, then to you, I’m no better than that fool last night.”

Viau clenched one hand, near where his hilt would have been if he’d been armed. But he inhaled and spoke quietly. “Watch your words, killer. You are a thousand times better than that fool or any other.”

“Including you?” Rafi demanded rudely and then kneeled down to pick up the strike-stick from the floor.

He darted forward with no warning, closing the distance even as Viau took several steps back. That put Viau within reach of one of Daloit’s third-years, and Viau snatched the practice sword from her with a distracted apology.

They hadn’t sparred with different weapons before, and one should never use a strike-stick on someone without padding unless intending to break bone. Rafi was even more reckless and dropped his control; if Viau could follow Rafi’s aer, let him follow every wild tendril reaching for him.

Guen was shouting. Katoh too. Words Rafi didn’t hear.

Viau, experienced and wiser, retreated to gain space, but Rafi’s aer followed and then Rafi himself.

A wooden sword was not meant to deflect a strike-stick. At least, not more than once. The crack as the two weapons crashed together echoed through the space.

“Rafi,” Viau panted, his eyes bright and beautiful.

Rafi swung out again, his aer in all directions to surround Viau as he knocked the broken sword aside and backed Viau into a pillar. He stepped in too close, vulnerable to knives although that was not Viau’s way. Viau didn’t want to hurt him. He had the strength of a mage. He could have pushed Rafi away at any time, or done more than try to keep space between them and defend himself. He could have attacked.

He put his back to the pillar and gazed down at Rafi without so much as a growl.

“You can’t leave me,” Rafi told him, breathing hard, his mouth and throat dry.

“No.” Viau gently shook his head. “No, I can’t. No, I won’t. If you’re a storm cloud, then I am the waiting earth, or a foolish wall, hoping for the touch of vines.”

“Ah.” Rafi could not think of anything else for a moment, sinking his weight against Viau and letting the stick fall to the floor. Viau put an arm around him. The other was raised to offer a light touch at his temple, then behind his ear.

Rafi shivered and reached out again. “It’s the same,” he revealed, hoping Viau understood. “Isn’t it? Our aer? So you can’t leave. You’re…. You’ve been reaching for me. Say so. Please. Without poetry.”

Viau placed a kiss to the edge of Rafi’s hair. “Forgive me. I didn’t think you’d want to be held to…. Yes, it is the same. I didn’t know how to believe it, but I recognized it with you pleading on the ground before me. Astlan themself would have been rendered helpless at the sight of you in that garden, and then your aer found mine. I couldn’t speak then, for obvious reasons. And then afterward… you left me. You left me, Rafeli. What was I to take from that?”

Rafi nodded without looking up, because he had left Viau, and had only gone near him again because Laure had pushed him.