“And then I was so busy enjoying you I sort of forgot, but just now it reminded me that we both had a before, and I honestly think Jak…well, he didn’t say he was in love with you, but he was certainly willing to be.”
Hendrik couldn’t even comprehend this. He’d always assumed he’d never really known Jak and his motivations, but this was the last thing he would’ve expected. “You’re sure that wasn’t Kass he was talking about?”
Dagan shook his head. “Damnation. Should I have told you? You don’t feel bad, do you?”
“No! I mean, I’m flattered, if it’s true.”
“It is.”
“And I assume he’s not pining or anything.” The thought was idiotic, actually—Jak pining for anything let alone him? No. Never.
“No. No, he was very sweet about it with me, actually.”
“Not surprised. But he had his pick of the City. And he was born in the Lantern, so he was always sort of their golden child, destined to be rich and famous in certain circles. He never showed what he was really thinking.” Hen frowned, considering. “None of us did, though. Not one of us in that whole City.”
“That’s true,” Dagan agreed. “I noticed when I first met him, of course.”
“You did?”
“He was acting precisely how I would’ve acted if our roles had been reversed. You did say I reminded you of him in some ways.”
“Yeah, but now I know that was the part where you’re both really good at faking social interactions.” Hen snorted and threw an arm over Dagan’s shoulder, pulling him tight against his side.
“I gather he saw your devotion, the absurd depths of your loyalty, and that struck something in him,” Dagan explained. “I can understand wanting to bask in that particular light.”
Stomach suddenly fluttering, throat tight, Hen kissed Dagan’s cheek, then his ear. It was flattering, of course, that someone like Jak would’ve considered him beyond just business, power, security. But it was also an unexpected pleasure that that, of all things, had been what had drawn Jak to him. Jak had seen him with Kass. He must’ve liked what he saw between them. Liked how Hendrik had loved Kass, though he would never have called it that at the time, and imagined the same for himself.
There was something so gratifying in that, beyond the interest of a beautiful, clever, cosmopolitan man like Jak in and of itself. Something that made him feel not just flattered but also a little bit…proud? That he had something, something he’d already given Dagan wholeheartedly, that was worth wanting.
Hen whispered, “You’ve been basking in it a while now. Even before you knew it. So how does it feel?”
“Like heaven.” Dagan sighed and leaned into him, resting his head against Hen’s shoulder and his hand against his chest.
“Tell me about the Paw Paw Grove Conservancy,” Hen murmured into Dagan’s hair, then reached for his mug again.
“Well, Demetrius’ parents have several goats they’re interested in breeding with the silky goats from the Grassland Conservancy. So once we get the silky goats, we can set up in a little cabin on the edge of the settlement, not far from the paw paw grove itself…”
The party rushed on
around them, Dagan proclaiming himself too warm and snuggly to want
to dance for once, his family dropping in and out of the
conversation, his settlement a swirl of winter color, taste, and
scent that was intoxicating even without the endless spiced wine.
They sat at the table together, watching it all, talking about the
life they were about to begin with the people who helped them find
it.
Four Moons Later: Paw Paw Grove conservancy, Strawberry Moon Waxing, Year of the Alliance
“Lucinta, I swear by all the wild little forest gods, if you so much as look at that tree…” Hendrik glared and pointed.
Lucinta, a small dun-colored she-goat with an attitude the size of the entire conservancy, ignored him and made a beeline for the linden tree in question.
“No, no, no!” Hen started after her, uncertain at first on the grassy path, since he hadn’t had much practice with the prosthetic lower leg outdoors. Finding it steady enough, he picked up the pace without getting careless of it. The thing was amazing work; it had taken the master bowyer moons to get the balance just right, and he wasn’t about to go ruining it just when he finally had it fitted and strapped properly. “Lucinta!”
She looked over her backside, those black-and-green hourglass eyes impassive. And then she began eating the bark off the linden tree.
“How did you even get out?” The fenced-in area for the goats was massive, with plenty of bark, herbs, shrubs, berries, and other wildcrafted delicacies available, and yet they insisted on escaping and munching elsewhere. They could easily destroy a tree in a few hours, ravenous, horrible, adorable creatures.
Hen leaned over, steadying himself on the tree, and scooped up the goat with his other arm. She gave a bleat of protest but otherwise seemed resigned. “You better have the softest armpit hair of any damned goat in the Heart Wood, for all the trouble you cause.” He tucked her tight under his arm and stood straight. When he felt balanced enough, let go of the tree and started for the pen. It was trickier to balance while carrying something, but that was to be expected. He had managed fine around the house, but outdoor work was picking up, now it was warm.
He deposited Lucinta back in the pen next to one of her sisters, removed the bucket that had clearly acted as a stepstool to get her out of the pen in the first place, and turned back to the house, sighing. “Fucking goats…”
At first, he didn’t see the figure leaning against the woodpile; the green-and-brown leathers blended into the landscape almost perfectly. Then he spotted the sun glinting off a dark, sleek braid and a cheeky smile—and a small, yellow dog weaving about the boots. Hendrik’s heart leapt into his throat. “Dagan!”
Dagan pushed off the woodpile and held out his arms. “Look at you! No cane or crutch?”
“I’ve been all over the house on it. Didn’t expect to have to carry a goat today, but Lucinta—”
“I saw, the saucy little wench.” Dagan threw his arms around Hen the moment he was near enough, smelling of leather and leaves and a long moon scouting the Heart Wood.
Shelton the dog raced to jump around them, but didn’t jump on them; he’d come a long way since the first days, when they’d despaired of him ever learning not to knock Hen over with his outsized affection.
“Hello, Shelton.” Hen buried his face in Dagan’s hair, wisps trailing out of the braid to frame his face, betraying how much of a hurry he’d been in to get home: He hadn’t even tended to his greatest vanity before arriving. His body fitted into Hen’s so perfectly, so much more perfectly than he’d remembered while Dagan was gone, that the sensation of completeness now was overwhelming. “You’re home,” he whispered. “I missed you.”
“I missed you so much, darling.” Dagan nuzzled at his neck. “By the forest gods, you smell divine.”
“I smell of goat.”
“No you don’t!” Dagan laughed and patted his cheek. “You smell like fresh leaves. That’s how your sweat smells.”
“My sweat? It’s terrible.”
“It’s divine, I said,” Dagan buried his face in Hen’s neck and inhaled deeply again.
“Aren’t I supposed to meet you with a hot bath drawn? In nothing but an apron?” Hen wished, just for a moment, that he could sweep Dagan into his arms and walk him into the house, throw him down on the bed, and jump on top of him. These days, adjusting to life without his original lower right leg was mostly the odd frustration and triumph, nothing more and nothing less. But times like this, when he wanted something he’d missed for so long, it was…hard. Harder than he’d expected.
