Dagan glanced around for help, uncertain how to answer, seeing as he had been thinking that in a way. But he didn’t believe it; he’d met too many Stone City people, Hendrik included, who were anything but foolish or weak.
“We’re what we were made to be,” Hendrik said quietly, settling in a corner and reaching out for Dagan. “Come.”
Dagan did, relieved not to have to reply to Jak. Professional flirt he might be, but there was a sharp side to him. Hen, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease with his old friend and lover, and Dagan was content to let him steer the conversation. He threw his legs over Hen’s lap and leaned against the wall facing his side. Hen took his hand and let it rest against Dagan’s thigh.
Jak stood and stretched. “I’ll let you sleep. Morning stirs early in this district, so you might get less than you wanted.”
“Do you have to?” Hen asked.
Jak paused and glanced at them over his shoulder.
“I want to hear about…about how you’ve been.” Hen frowned slightly.
“And so do I,” Jak said, turning again. There was something hesitant in his body language, unexpected from someone so easy in his skin. “But you must be exhausted.”
Hen shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s too strange, being here. I never thought I’d see it again. Or you.”
Jak approached but slowly, reminding Dagan of a nervous deer.
Dagan gestured to the other side of Hen, where their blankets stretched out, and said, “Sit, please. I’ve been dying to meet you. Never thought I’d get the chance.”
“What did you tell him?” Jak raised an eyebrow at Hen, sinking into the blankets and pulling his legs up beneath him. He sat close, inches away from Hen, and leaned forward, voice low.
“That you’re a professional flirt,” Hen replied. “And apparently much more than that, which doesn’t surprise me. How long have you been with the resistance?”
“At least as long as you’ve known me.” Jak’s little smile betrayed a well-deserved sense of pride. He looked to Dagan. “Did he tell you I tried to convince him to keep me, before he faked his own death?”
Dagan chuckled as a few things began to slide into place in his mind. “He didn’t.”
“He never would’ve done it, but I had to try,” Jak shrugged and smiled.
“I thought about it,” Hen protested. “But it would’ve been a kind of business arrangement. You don’t have anything like it in the Heart Wood, I don’t think. Some guards keep a lover or housekeeper or whatever. It spares them having a family but lets them have company—”
“And it provides a kind of security for a sex worker,” Jak finished. “Which is frankly a luxury, especially once you’re out of fashion. My current fees are high enough that I can pick and choose, but that doesn’t last forever without deep-pocketed long-term clients. The Lantern brings in new custom regularly, but, well, they’re usually in for something a little quicker and less costly than…” He gestured at himself.
“The Red Lantern, right?” Dagan recalled. He was watching Jak, though, who hadn’t looked Hen in the eye while saying any of that. Dagan suspected there had been more to Jak’s offer than Hendrik knew—well beyond Jak’s ambitions for power and the resistance.
“Finest sex house in the City,” Jak said with a flourish of his wrist.
“I wish we had them.” Dagan sighed. “I’d have lived there, practically.”
Hen snorted. “We indulged often. Well, Kass did, I was just along for the ride.”
“It was always a fun time, though.” Jak finally met Hen’s gaze. “I’m so sorry. About Kass.”
Hen said, “Me too. Piret told me you thought he had more time, or you would’ve tried to save him somehow. You would’ve died in the attempt.”
Jak sighed faintly. “Yes. Very likely. Just like I thought you had. So where have you been?”
Hen shot Dagan an amused look, then launched into an abbreviated version of his story: following the priests, killing them, wandering down the beach, barely surviving for a few moons, and then Dagan’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t know he’d come to rescue me, at the time.” Hen leaned over and kissed Dagan’s forehead.
“You always fancied yourself the hero,” Jak mused, watching them with a little half-smile on his face. “It must’ve been quite the reversal.”
“I did not,” Hen protested weakly.
“He did,” Jak replied. “And he made it look good. But I like this look even better. You almost seem happy, Hendrik.”
“I will be,” he replied, voice low and dark. “If we succeed here.”
“And you?” Jak looked to Dagan then. “You and your people put yourselves at risk for us.”
“For the Heart Wood, too,” he said. “As the river drains of life, it threatens the rest of the forest. We’re here for the City and the Wood.”
“They die separately or survive together,” Hen said.
One corner of Jak’s mouth pulled upward, but both his eyes crinkled. “I wish we were meeting in less fraught circumstances, Dagan.”
“Let’s make it happen, then,” Dagan suggested. “Once we finish this, we’ll meet again.”
“I knew I was going to like you.”
An hour or so later, Dagan was feeling much more comfortable, probably because Jak was. He was also positively convinced that Jak either had a very serious crush on Hendrik or had at one time and was finding it difficult to shake, now Hen was back from the dead. But eventually Jak began to yawn between sentences, and so decided it was time to go home.
“I wanted to ask you for something…” Hen wriggled out from under Dagan and kissed his cheek, then stood to walk Jak to the door. He put a hand at the small of Jak’s back and leaned down to whisper something.
Well, Dagan was beginning to see why Kass might’ve wanted to invite Jak to his and Hen’s bed now and then. There was something oddly delightful in the proprietary way Hendrik touched Jak—or perhaps it was just his own bias, seeing something that wasn’t there. What in all the hells was Hen asking him for? Surely not a night for all three of them? It was hardly the time or place. Besides, Dagan was certain Hendrik would’ve asked him first. And, come to think of it, that Hen wouldn’t want anything of the kind; he’d very specifically said he didn’t want to share him.
All of a sudden, Dagan was curious…and horny. Which was an awkward sensation, in a room full of mostly-snoring people. Though the sun was up by then, most everyone else had passed out, exhausted with the long march through the dark. Surely, Bartolo was still awake and watchful, though he was curled in his blankets across the room.
