Hendrik recalled how the conversation had gotten started and was seized once more by curiosity. “Tell me more. What does Nika do? Or are they too young for a profession?”
“They’re still working in the grove, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they decide to become a Wildcrafter.”
Hen cocked an eyebrow, a silent question.
Dagan explained, “It’s less structured than a grove or a field; they cultivate naturally occurring useful plants rather than planting and harvesting wholesale. It’s delicate work, but some of our finest produce comes of it. The elderberries for my mother’s wine, for example.”
“Speaking of.” Hendrik glanced at Dagan’s pack. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of that wine since that first taste, the way it had lit up his tongue and warmed his belly. He was almost angry he’d never had wine before, if that’s what it tasted like.
“Yes, we should finish it tonight.” Dagan stretched out to retrieve his pack from the far end of the blanket, then removed the cups and wine skin. “Good thought, my dear Hendrik. I didn’t think you had much of a brain when we first met, but now I see you were simply catatonic with trauma.”
Hendrik snorted. “Thanks, I think. I definitely was, though. I might still be, partly, but only partly. Thanks to you.” For a moment, Hendrik was embarrassed to have said this aloud.
But Dagan, as usual, took it in stride. “To your awakening.” He poured two cups and handed Hen one.
Hendrik raised his cup, and they drank. By the time they finished the wine, they both had a pleasant buzz, Dagan had described all nine of his siblings’ foibles extensively, and Hendrik was stretched out on the blanket, his hands pillowed under his head, eyes shut. “Maybe I’ll meet them someday,” he said.
“If you like.”
“They can tell me all the funny stories about you.”
“I can tell them myself.”
“No, I mean the embarrassing things.” Hendrik opened one eye and smiled.
“I’ve never done anything embarrassing in my life,” Dagan deadpanned.
“Mmm-hmm. I’m comfy. Gonna sleep here, m’kay?”
“Of course, lovely. My blanket is your blanket.”
Hendrik flushed, suddenly remembering that he’d been thinking about Dagan getting off as he’d been getting off earlier in the evening, and that was wildly inappropriate. But the elderberry wine buzz took the sting out of the thought. Dagan hadn’t meant it that way, anyhow; he’d been very clear that he wouldn’t attempt anything romantic and that Hendrik would be rebuffed if he did. So, this was all very safe and comfortable.
And Hen wasn’t betraying Kass just by thinking about Dagan, because for one thing, Dagan was unattainable. And for another, Kass didn’t exist, except in Hendrik’s head and heart, where he’d always be.
And for yet another, Kass would’ve tried to fuck Dagan two weeks ago. Sure, he would’ve brought Hen along for the ride, but honestly. Who was he kidding?
Chapter 2: Mushroom Conservancy, Heart Wood
The next morning as he ran through longsword forms with his short knife, Hendrik felt slightly less confident about the innocence of his attraction to Dagan. Kass would approve of it, likely even share it, that much was certain. But as Hendrik slipped into the chilly lake to cool off after the exercise, something seemed to fall into place in his mind:
His attraction to Dagan felt different because Hendrik had never been the one leading the way. As a pimply teenage guard, he’d decided to suffer the pains of unrequited love for his charge because it was his duty; Kass had been the one to kiss him behind the door of the master’s office and slip his hand into Hendrik’s shorts at night. Yes, Hen would comment on other men’s looks, but Jak and the few they’d auditioned before him, anyone who’d ever been in their bed, had been Kass’s choice, though always submitted for Hendrik’s approval. Never the other way around.
It had been so much easier, like that. Everything planned out, his entire life, even lovers and friends. How everyone in the Heart Wood functioned with all their chaos and personal choices, Hen couldn’t imagine. How every one of them wasn’t a disordered wild-man living off sea-insects was a mystery for the ages.
“Do you want another swimming lesson?” Dagan called from the shore.
Hen turned to see him standing in his shorts, shrouded in a pretty mist that made the morning light through the canopy seem very magical indeed. “Do you want to teach me?” Hen asked with a chuckle.
“Again, captive audience.” Dagan took a few long strides into the water, then dove into it head first. The water shimmered over him as he darted forward, then popped up just before Hendrik.
“Are you sure you’re not actually a fish?” Hen asked with a smirk.
“You’re in a very good mood today, darling.” Dagan raised his eyebrows, his hair dripping in rivulets down his face and shoulders.
“I am,” Hen admitted readily. “Is that strange?”
“Considering what you’ve been through? I wouldn’t say strange so much as progress.” Dagan’s smile was so open, so genuine, even Hendrik couldn’t find any sarcasm in this declaration. “So, what do you say? Swimming?”
Hendrik thought of Dagan’s warm palm flattened at the small of his back. Of Dagan’s shorts clinging wetly to his prick. He flushed and ducked lower into the water. “I’ll practice floating some more, if you want to have a swim.”
Dagan nodded happily and began to bounce away.
“Dagan.” Hen spoke before he even knew what he really wanted to say.
He turned back. “Yes, lovely?”
“Do we have to go today?” After it was out, Hen’s stomach clenched.
Dagan’s brow furrowed. “You mean, you want to camp here another day?”
Hen hardly knew what he meant. Maybe it was the water, or the swimming lessons, or the conversation last night. Maybe it was just because he’d finally managed to jerk off properly after moons of uncertainty and frustration and sorrow. Whatever it was, he wanted to hold onto it. Just for one more day.
But he didn’t know how to say any of that, so Hen just shrugged and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.
“You did say you wanted to keep traveling.” Dagan tapped at his bottom lip once, twice, before seeming to decide. “Well, since we can’t do that yet, we can compromise with the Council, even if they don’t know they’re compromising. Let’s stay another day. Your poor feet have been suffering in those boots, and the willow is the most perfect little camp, isn’t it?”
Hendrik nodded, a wave of relief rushing through him harder than anything that’d hit him in the sea. Whatever excuse Dagan had found, he would’ve agreed wholeheartedly, but those two happened to be true.
