Page 86 of The Boy Bride

He picked up his bow and slung it over his shoulder. Lill followed him down the range and watched him tugging his arrows out of the butt.

“I was a kid when I got my friend Enu pregnant,” Vanu went on, “and it was a dumb fucking mistake. I should have known better. Enu’s a warrior soul—a man. Well, a boy, then. But his family made him go back to living as a girl until he’d had the kid. I didn’t think he’d ever forgive me for putting him through that. So … ” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have surprised me if Susami didn’t like me.”

“But she does.”

He could say that with certainty. The whole reason he’d been afraid Susami didn’t like him was because it was clear to him that she loved her father—was somehow protective of him, almost as much as he was of her—and might not have thought this strange bride from the lowlands good enough for him.

“And Enu—did he forgive you?”

“Yeah. We’re friends again. Me taking Susami helped. Better for everybody, most ways.” He bundled the retrieved arrows together and dropped them back into the quiver. “He married a widow with a bunch of kids of her own. Likes being a father better than being a mother.” He slung the quiver over his shoulder. “So—you wanted something?”

“I did?”

“Came looking for me,” Vanu reminded him.

He had, but there hadn’t been any reason. He’d been happy because Susami had warmed to him, and Vanu had said he’d be on the archery range “if you want me,” and Lill had just … come out here.

“I thought I’d try shooting again,” he said, because he had to say something.

“Ah. Mikhi’s bow’s back by the house. Was restringing it for her.”

Vanu strode off up the range, and Lill jogged to keep up. Vanu retrieved the bow from where it was propped against a bench and turned, looking surprised to find Lill beside him.

“Was going to bring it to you. Mikhi usually shoots from⁠—”

Lill popped up on tiptoe to pull an arrow out of the quiver on Vanu’s shoulder, and took Mikhi’s bow out of Vanu’s hand. He nocked the arrow still facing Vanu, turned, aimed, and shot in one smooth motion. It was only as he looked down the full length of the range at his arrow trembling in the dead centre of the target that he remembered he had intended not to do that.

“Ah,” said Vanu quietly.

He unslung the quiver of arrows and offered it. Lill took another without looking into his face. He could pretend the bullseye had been a fluke, make his second shot go pitifully wide or into the ground …

There was no conceivable way Vanu would not see through that. Lill nocked the second arrow, raised the bow, and shot, hitting the second ring of the target, just above and to the left of the first arrow. He glanced at the quiver, counting the remaining arrows, then plucked them out one after another and shot, until the quiver was empty and the arrows in the target were arranged in a rough approximation of a Hawada character—the first one that came to mind, which happened to be the first letter of Vanu’s name.

It was a trick he’d perfected with his knives on the streets of Torakand—with different letters, of course—and he’d never tried it with a bow before, or from such a distance. He stood looking down the range, assessing how he’d done. It was a little crooked, the shape could have been clearer, he could certainly have shot faster, and he had taken the time to line up all but the first shot carefully—but it would be adequate. He wouldn’t be punished.

He realized, with a jolt that made the muscles of his back spasm, that he had been standing at attention, holding Mikhi’s bow stiffly in front of him, waiting for the all-clear from the master to go and collect his arrows. But he was not in fact on the archery range of the Order. No one was judging whether he deserved punishment or not.

He moved to go down the range and retrieve the arrows.

“Leave ’em,” said Vanu.

“O-oh?” Lill stared at him, confusion probably written on his face. He’d almost forgotten Vanu was there.

“Let’s go in.” Vanu tipped his head toward his house, something purposeful in the gesture.

“Of course. For … to … ?” He was missing something; he felt that he should know what Vanu intended, but he did not.

Vanu paused, raked his hair back with one hand—it was loose, not tied back at all today, which made him look younger, less stern—put his hands on his hips, rubbed a thumb over the scar on his right cheek. If he’d been a boy, Lill would have said he was fidgeting.

“Let’s—” Vanu took a breath and let it out with a huff. “We could mess around. If you wanted.”

“We could do what?”

“Mess around.” He made a vague and yet quite explanatory gesture, indicating Lill’s body and his own. “If. You want.”

“Oh! Oh. Yes, of course.” The only possible answer. Absurd that it required courage to say, but it did.

“Whatever you want. Nothing you don’t want.”