Tatterdemalion

“I’m not leaving you yet,” Dane said quietly, tucking Lindsay in against him. He kissed Lindsay’s

hair and cradled Lindsay in his arms.

Not yet. Lindsay hated the way Dane said that, but he knew it was true. Once they were back at

Cyrus’s house, he’d have to get used to sleeping alone again. Being alone again. For now, though, he had

this, and he wanted to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

Dane watched Lindsay sleep. The light of the moon was more than enough for him to see by; it

limned Lindsay’s delicate features with a thin line of silver. Lindsay would hardly recognize himself the way Dane saw him now. The moon’s pen traced the lines of Lindsay’s face that were growing stronger by

the day, bringing out the picture of the grown man he would be when his body recovered from years of

neglect and abuse.

The moon crept higher and Dane still wasn’t tired. Lindsay was a bit restless and Dane didn’t blame

him. It had been that kind of day. At least Lindsay smiled when he wriggled closer, no more frowning and

scowling. Dane kissed his temple and huffed softly in his hair. So sweet. The wind rattled around the

window and Lindsay murmured.

“It’s nothing,” Dane said to him in a low voice. Lindsay didn’t wake. Even sleeping, he believed Dane

and settled again.

Dane wanted it to be nothing. He closed his eyes and forced the world away. Lindsay’s breath

skimmed his chest like a little hand petting him to sleep.

The wind whined in the chimney and Dane heard delicate feathers of ash scattering across the

hearthstones. Damn it. He kissed Lindsay and then worked away slowly, tucking his pillow where he’d been and letting Lindsay snuggle it instead.

Sleeping, Lindsay pouted. Sad little bu

flue. “I will be right there,” he hissed through his teeth. He finished tucking Lindsay in securely and finally made his reluctant escape. The cold wasn’t going to bother him, but Cyrus would have something to say if

he were to hang around naked, so he pulled on his robe.

The windows were surprisingly well sealed, for all that the wind had been tugging at them. At the

north-facing window, Dane flicked the brass catches back and felt the weights in the frame dropping as the

pane rose slowly. When it was open enough for him to slither through, he slipped out to perch on the wide

ledge and pulled the pane back down until his fingers were nearly caught against the sill.

“I’m here,” he said grumpily, as though Cyrus didn’t know. He set his back to one side of the deep

well in which the window was set and his feet against the other, leaning against the glass while the wind

pulled at his hair and robe. It was snowing, but the flakes fell against something that was nothing Dane

could see, and none reached him.

“You weren’t sleeping,” said Cyrus. “So don’t be such a bear.”

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Tatterdemalion

Dane sneezed as his own hair tickled his nose. Cyrus was feeling playful. “Am I to have no privacy,

still?”

“As much as you need.” The wind feathered through his hair. “You never needed much.”

“Things change,” Dane said.

“Not so much. I speak. You ignore most of it.”

“Only the parts that don’t matter.” Dane looked out past the place where the snow stopped. From

here, a layer of snow blanketed the garden that had been, when Dane had been on the ground, green and

new. There was no knowing anything for certain in Ezqel’s house, nor about Ezqel.

“I think you keeping your hands off the boy matters.” Even from thousands of miles away, Cyrus

could sound snippy.

“It mattered more to him that I touch him,” Dane pointed out. “And to me.”

“And you see no danger in that?” The wind snapped at Dane’s cheek with an icy finger. “In either of

those things?”

“It wouldn’t stop me if I did.” Dane shook his head. “I never cared much for the rules, Cyrus, and

you’ll have to live with me having my own opinion again. It’s not going to kill you.”

There was a long pause that made Dane’s chest hollow with dread as he wondered what truth he’d hit

upon. Then again, maybe Cyrus was sulking, or talking to someone else. He was just starting to feel ill and cold when Cyrus sighed.

“You are well, then?” Cyrus sounded subdued, or maybe resigned.

“I think so. Better, at the least.” He’d been a little better before Ezqel healed him, he knew that much.

He’d already felt more whole. Lindsay had as much magic in his little frowns and rare smiles as most

enchantments, all but the strongest of them.

“It is good to know.”

“You weren’t listening to find out if I did it or not?” Dane asked dryly.