No. Are you fucking disordered? He’d never forgive you.
And anyhow, Hen wasn’t sure he could keep this up much longer even if he wanted to. “I think I hurt him,” he admitted.
“How?” she snorted. “I mean, from what you just told me, I don’t see it.”
Hen shook his head. “I’m missing something. I’ve been missing it for days.”
She frowned. “Well, find it. The mines are a bad place for lovesickness. Need everyone to be sharp and communicative.”
“Understood.” Hen hoped it was safe to change the subject, at that point, because he didn’t know what else to say. “How bad are they? The mines? I mean, I’ve been into the upper tunnels for drills and training, but…”
“It’s a different world.” Her face screwed up. “I’ve never seen people survive on so little. And so many of them, Hen. People act like refugees get out of the mines in a generation or two, but Maya says it’s not so. She says most people just have babies who grow up and live in the mines until they die, too. Can you imagine? Getting a license for a child for that?”
Hen shook his head. “Why would they?”
“Maya says it’s mostly retroactive. They actually want miners to reproduce. Makes them more expendable.”
Well, that was horrific. “Shit. I thought it was bad what they did with the Children of the Blood.”
“Yeah, at least they get pampered for twenty years before they get fucked.” Piret snorted in disgust. “Best food, best clothes, best sanitation, best medicine, best education…within the masters’ limits, of course.”
“It’s a lot of trouble to go to just to kill them,” Hendrik said, considering.
“In the Oak Grove Conservancy, they let the pigs roam the groves, eating acorns and foraging and playing and loving their lives.” Piret’s voice went low and intense, of a sudden. “As it turns out, happy pigs taste better, Hendrik.”
*
After a long day of walking, the company found a small clearing carpeted with pine needles and set up camp again. They were becoming efficient, especially since they hadn’t needed the tents yet, with the fine summer weather. Fires made, late supper cooked, everyone fed and sitting around the fire with an ale or moonshine-and-juice if they liked a nightcap.
Hendrik stood to go to his blankets early, shooting Dagan a wistful look he didn’t catch. Dagan was sitting on an old log next to Gareth, bumping him with his shoulder and asking, “But I’ve heard so many stories about scouts getting together on the road. A long, lonely moon, a sudden unexpected run-in with a fellow scout, a cozy campfire or the first bed either of them have seen in ages…”
Gareth chuckled, a rolling sound, deep and infectious, though he was generally a quiet sort. He was handsome and dark, with curling brown hair, silver at the temples and peppered through his short beard.
“Do your partners back home ever worry about you straying while you’re on the forest path?” Dagan asked, voice dripping with innuendo.
“They wouldn’t consider it straying if I did.” Gareth shook his head and took a long swig of something from his cup. The fire lit him up in high relief, the elegant angles of his nose and cheeks and jaw. Hendrik had never noticed before this moment, but he was very good-looking, in a kind of “drill captain who’s aging well” way. “They have each other to entertain them. Though with the kids, it’s always a struggle.”
“So, give me the dirt, darling.” Dagan leaned into him, pressing their arms together, shoulder to elbow.
Hendrik got that frozen sensation in his belly again. Which was stupid, because they were just talking, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know Dagan flirted with everything that had a pulse, anyhow. He was just being Dagan, and Hendrik liked it. He did. Really.
Dagan went on, “Tell me about your juiciest scout affair. What was it? One night? A week? Who was it with?”
“I haven’t had any,” Gareth protested, laughing heartily again. “Well, not since I settled down with Dav and Agnes.”
“Really? Well, tell me about the before then. Where were you and how did it happen?”
“Do you really want to know?” This seemed incredible but hilarious, to Gareth.
“Maybe I just want the mental images,” Dagan’s lips pursed sweetly as he turned the full fire of his gaze on Gareth.
Yeah. That was the look. The look he hadn’t given Hen in days, now. Seeing it now, turned on someone else, made Hendrik want to scream.
“You don’t.” Gareth shook his head. “I’m old enough to be your father.”
“I like a silver fox,” Dagan said cheerfully. “But we’re talking about your misspent youth, not your devoted middle-age. Though that’s equally hot, I wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to ask for those details.”
Gareth was still shaking his head and chuckling. “They warned me about you.”
Hendrik, who had been entranced, watching this scene unfold, suddenly realized that Kajja and Piret were watching him. He shook himself and turned on his heel, heading to his blankets, face hot. Light footsteps followed, and when they caught up he said without turning to look, “Go back, Kajja.”
She grabbed his arm and fell into step with him. “He’s being an idiot.”
“He’s just being Dagan. It’s fine,” Hen said, not even sure if he was lying or not. He was being Dagan. And it was fine. And yet…
“It’s not—”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you might as well go back. Maybe you’ll learn something; you’re trying to flirt with Innan, but it’s not getting you anywhere.” He regretted saying it almost immediately. His ears went even hotter.
She jerked him to a stop. “First of all, I am cultivating a strong foundational friendship with Innan, because even if they aren’t interested in me like that, I value them as a person and a friend.”
Hen ran a hand through his hair, irritated with himself and the world. “I know. I know, sorry.”
“What, no comment about how I just basically admitted I was interested in them?”
“Oh. Yeah. But I mean, I knew that,” Hen replied.
She shook her head. “Did Piret talk to you?”
