Page 13 of The House of the Red Balconies

“Where I’m actually from, no—we usually sat on stools and benches and things.”

He sat down on the grass beside Zo’s chair, putting down the tea tray, and for the first time he filled both of the bowls on the tray with tea. He lifted one carefully, holding it with both hands, to offer it to Zo, and their eyes met, as they had the night before over the lamp flame. And again, there seemed to be something there, a connection warm as the steam rising from the tea, bright as the light from the lamp flame. Though perhaps it was only how a well-trained companion looked at anyone. Whatever it was, Hylas appreciated it.

Zo blew on the surface of his tea, the bowl poised in his long, elegant fingers. He sipped it. Hylas tried not to stare at his mouth. He was so young, and so tired; it seemed like taking advantage.

“Mm. This is the good tea for guests. They must like you in the kitchen.”

“Oh. They may. I like them. We have good chats when I go there.” He realized that must sound implausible, that he could actually have a satisfactory conversation with anyone. But the kitchen staff were very talkative.

“Last night … ” Zo began delicately. When he hesitated, it sounded artful, not as if he was searching desperately for the right word or wondering if he should say this at all. “You said you were glad I can get around by myself with my crutch. That was kind of you.”

“Oh!” It had burst out of him, and he’d been quite sure it had been inappropriate and unwelcome. He thought he’d even seen Zo’s beautiful eyebrows contract in a frown. “Well, I—I meant it.”

“Yes.” Zo gave him a sidelong look, elegantly unreadable. “You strike me as a man who is not in the habit of saying things he does not mean.”

That made Hylas laugh. “I—I say things I don’t mean all the time. But only without meaning to. If, uh, if you follow.”

“I believe I do.”

After a moment’s silence, during which they sipped their tea, Hylas tried to say something that he’d been struggling to put into words. “You—you don’t have to be charming, when it’s just me.”

Zo gave him a wide-eyed look. “You think I can help it?”

Then they were both laughing. Zo had a beautiful, dark laugh, surprisingly rich and totally infectious.

“Actually,” he said, sobering but still smiling, “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, that’s … well. Good.” Hylas picked up the basket of buns and offered it. “There’s different kinds. I think the ones with sesame seeds are sweet. Oh, you probably know that.”

“I like the salty ones,” said Zo, picking out a bun. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a time after that, drinking their tea and eating buns. They could hear birds crying overhead on the cliff face, and a breeze moved through the garden, circulating the scent of rosemary.

“I love this garden,” Hylas remarked, almost to himself.

“Thank you. It’s not at its best right now.”

He looked at Zo, surprised. “It’s yours? I mean—you planted it?”

Zo nodded. “Some of it. I designed it all, and I take care of it when I can. I’m not always an invalid, and I’m not in a permanent decline—it comes and goes. Some days I’m able to work in my garden.”

“Ah, truly? That is wonderful.”

“Milo, the bouncer here before Ahmos, used to help me. He’s the one who started building the terraces back there. But he earned his freedom and went home to Pyria a few months ago.”

“I’ll help you.” The words were out of Hylas’s mouth before he could consider their wisdom. He rephrased: “Could I help you? I don’t know anything about gardening, but—well, I don’t know much, but I’ve been learning a few things lately. Governor Loukianos is always talking to me about his garden.”

“I’ve heard the governor’s garden is magnificent. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“I like yours better,” said Hylas truthfully.

“But you just said you don’t know anything about gardens.”

“That’s true, I did.”

“I’ll teach you what I know, and then you’ll understand that the governor’s is much more impressive than mine.”

“Does that mean that I can help maintain it for you?”