Page 65 of The House of the Red Balconies

He wished he could feel more sure that was true.

Of course Hylas couldn’t stay and burn incense every night. He was making an effort to save money; he’d told Zo as much. But he had looked so happy, Zo had just assumed he was going to come and sit down with the other guests.

Mercifully, at this point a new arrival saw Zo’s flute and begged in flowery terms for some music, which gave Zo an excuse to ignore Timon for a while. Timon sat there slurping his wine; Zo could feel the man’s gaze on the side of his face. He launched into the longest piece he knew.

He stopped playing finally, exhausted, and registered that a hush had fallen over the guests. He didn’t think it was related to his music. He looked up. Everyone seemed to be looking in the same direction, and he realized Hylas was back in the courtyard.

Hylas was standing just outside the circle of guests gathered around Zo, and in his hands he held a ring of rosemary branches woven into a garland.

Zo dropped his flute with a gasp.

“Eh?” said Timon, the last to catch on. “What⁠—”

Someone moved aside to let Hylas come into the circle. He looked a fraction less at ease than he had when Zo had glimpsed him returning to the house, but still, if you knew him, you could tell he was brimming with resolve, full of joy to be doing this.

“Zo,” he said, “I would like to offer you this.” He held out the garland.

There was no way Zo could have got to his feet, but he didn’t need to because Hylas knelt in front of him. Zo took the garland and settled it on his head. There were gasps and cries of excitement from all around the courtyard. The scent of the rosemary was intoxicating.

Timon had started to shout something in protest—“How dare you?” and something about “a stuttering, red-haired bricklayer”—but the other guests shushed him. One of Zo’s regulars began loudly reciting a famous poem about a mortal in love with a nymph who gets chosen as the consort of a god, a traditional piece for such situations, and someone else began loudly ribbing him for being unoriginal.

Hylas and Zo just sat at the centre of it all, smiling at one another.

Mistress Aula and Taris were clasping hands and bouncing up and down excitedly like little girls. Zo thought he heard Chrestos telling people that he’d “known it all along,” whatever that meant. Ahmos came and discreetly escorted Timon out.

Hylas reached for Zo’s hand and clasped it. “We could retire to your room,” he said. “Couldn’t we?”

“I guess we could. Let’s.”

Hylas picked up Zo’s flute and helped him to his feet. Zo took his arm and leaned on it, doing his best to make it look elegant for their audience, but also really needing the support. Hylas, to Zo’s surprise, turned to wave to the crowd before they left.

“That was perfect,” Zo murmured as they exited the courtyard. “How are you so wonderful? My face hurts from smiling so much. I don’t care if it’s not real⁠—”

“It is real,” said Hylas seriously. He stopped in the dark anteroom, turning to face Zo, both his hands warm on Zo’s arms, steadying him. “I went down to the fort and presented a case for the navy appointing me chief engineer for the island. They agreed on the spot. I didn’t expect that—I guess I was persuasive. I certainly felt as if I could have talked anyone into anything, if it was for your sake. It won’t make me rich, but I don’t think you need me to be rich. You’d only need a rich man if he was supporting a wife and a household as well as you. I don’t need to do that. You … you are my household, Zo. If you—as long as you—want to be.”

Zo wrapped his arms around Hylas and hugged him fiercely. He felt tears gathering in his eyes.

“Hylas, if you want … I’ll leave the Red Balconies with you.”

“All right,” said Hylas easily, stroking Zo’s back. “Where should we go? To the market? The beach?”

“No, I mean … ” He wiped his eyes and looked up at Hylas, though he couldn’t really see him in the dark. “I mean to live with you somewhere other than here.”

“Oh. You’d do that, if I wanted?”

“I would. Gladly.”

Zo felt Hylas draw a deep breath and let it out. “I thought you might. But do you want to?”

Zo hesitated.

“Because I don’t want you to,” Hylas said. “Not as long as you’re happy here. If that should change … if you want to leave, we’ll leave in an instant, together.”

“You want to stay here. At the Red Balconies.”

Hylas drew him closer. “I like it here. It’s a good place for you. You get to see people without going out, to put your skills to use. You have your garden. Our garden. You have me next door. I do want to stay here, yes. On Tykanos, in this house. With you.”

Zo rested his head on Hylas’s shoulder, and the rosemary garland gave off a renewed burst of scent as the leaves were bruised.