“There’s always a choice.”
“You think that because you’ve always had one.”
“No.” Dagan squeezed him and caught his gaze again. “No, my darling. I think it because it’s true; you can choose not to be involved at all with what comes next. You can. No one can stop you.”
“Well, yes, I could. But then I’d hate myself.”
“Maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you think.” Dagan smiled softly. “But it’s still a choice.”
“That doesn’t make it feel much better. Fuck, I’m so tired of thinking about this.” Hendrik slumped and buried his face in Dagan’s hair, inhaling his soothing scent. “I’m so tired of thinking at all.”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet Hendrik. That’s all you had to say.” Dagan’s voice had gone slightly sing-song, lowering into something approaching sex-voice but not quite there.
Hendrik sat up eagerly to meet his gaze again.
Dagan smiled and put a finger against Hen’s lips. “No more brooding talk, then. Enjoy the party, but not too much.” He leaned in close and whispered, all hot breath again, “I’ll need your senses sharp.”
Hen suppressed a shiver of pleasure and kissed his finger. “We could just—”
But before he could suggest that they skip the party altogether, he heard Kajja bellowing from across the market. “Hen! Come taste this!”
“I’m so glad she’s okay. And here. I really am,” Hen said, more to remind himself than anyone else.
Dagan laughed and stood, adjusting his pants as he did so. At least Hen wasn’t the only one.
Kajja, as it turned out, had discovered the adult answer to juice-and-water, which was juice and moonshine. Moonshine, as far as Hendrik could tell, was just the Heart Wood’s answer to firewater, and whatever it was brewed with, it hit just as hard.
“Careful with that,” he warned as the moonshine merchant poured her a fair measure. “You’ll end up like me the other night.”
“You’re a wise drinker, though.” Innan always looked like they knew a secret, when they smiled like that. They sipped on their own cup as Kajja picked up hers. “Go on; it’s nice.”
Kajja sipped carefully at first. Then grinned. “Oh, that is so much better than firewater.”
“Yes, because they have juice. What kind is that?” Hendrik asked.
“Berry,” said the merchant, a handsome, portly older man. “Will you have one?”
“Uh…”
Dagan said, “I will. Berry’s my favorite.”
Innan sent Hendrik a soft, understanding smile. “There’s ale over there, too. I think she’s just setting up.”
“Yeah, I’ll have one of those, then.” Hendrik hoped he looked grateful because he was. The berry juice smelled delicious, but he was not going to drink himself into oblivion by accident tonight, thank you very much. They could all think it was because his hangover had been so nasty a few days ago. The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about that damn apricot, now.
He crossed a group of children with baskets full of colorful flowers. They giggled and threw some at his feet, which confused him until they started flinging them all over the plank floor of the marketplace. They made a pretty patchwork, and the kids were delighted with the mess they were making. Hen stepped over them carefully but noticed the kids, who were barefoot, trampled them with glee.
Musicians with a bevy of stringed and wooden instruments began setting up in the center of the market, and the children drew a circle of flowers around them as they scratched and plucked and blew seemingly at random. It changed to something recognizable as music quickly, and the rising chatter of the settlement seemed almost an accompaniment. The trees grew darker, the houses shadowy, the lanterns above their doors and the market stalls casting their soft colored light all over. The entire settlement seemed transformed into something out of a vivid dream.
“Hendrik,” said an unfamiliar voice, as he approached the ale stall.
When he turned, he recognized the man as the councilor from Dagan’s home conservancy, Thad. He was about the same height as Dagan, short, but broad in the chest and shoulders and with a stubbly, dark two-day beard. Handsome and, as far as Hen had seen, generally cheerful. “Thad, right?” Hen nodded in greeting.
“That’s right, of Black Walnut Conservancy. Haven’t had a chance to welcome you personally, things have been so busy. What do you think of the Heart Wood?” Thad waved to the ale merchant, who turned back to their casks and started pouring.
“It’s a dream,” Hen admitted, at a loss to adequately explain what it meant to him.
“It could be, anyhow.” Thad smiled wryly. “There’s always work to do, though. Has anyone told you that the Council officially accepted your request for asylum?”
Hen shook his head.
“Yes, well, we’ve all had our heads stuck in books or up each other’s backsides for the last few days. Thanks for loaning us Dagan.”
Hen smiled lopsidedly. “Pretty sure I don’t get a say in where he goes, but you’re welcome.”
Thad chuckled and patted Hen on the arm. “Pretty sure you do, my friend. When you’re ready to find a place to live, I can find you something very nice in my conservancy. But I’m sure Dagan will have his own ideas about that.”
Hen flushed at the implication, heart leaping. Thankfully, a child ran up to them with two mugs of ale at that exact moment, so he didn’t have to say anything but, “Thank you,” to both of them.
By then, the stalls had become livelier, and Hendrik wandered with his ale, watching the swirl of people and colors. He’d been ready to hate anything called a “party,” but he definitely didn’t hate this gathering. Maybe it was because the night was just getting started, but it seemed more relaxed than what he’d expected. Less painfully social and more smile-and-wave-at-your-neighbors. Still not his favorite pastime, but interesting, since it was also a study of the Heart Wood’s inner workings.
“Mushroom buckwheat noodles?” a merchant asked, waving a ladle at him.
Ah, yes, food. He should eat something. “Thank you,” he went to her stall and watched her toss brown noodles, beautiful, fluffy mushrooms, and some sort of dairy in a flat pot on her small fire. The smell, like onions and fresh bread and something else savory, made his mouth water. He accepted a wooden bowl from her when she finished, and she turned to serve her next patron with a broad smile.
Hendrik’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head when he tasted the concoction. “Oh, fuck me sideways,” he said to himself.
“Later, darling,” said a familiar voice beside him. Dagan appeared with a taller but oddly similar-looking man at his side; the stranger’s eyes were darker, but they had the same black hair and fine cheekbones. “Hendrik, this is my brother, Alonza.”
