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Em had said it was more like easing that door open a crack: not a wide swing, but a hopefully unnoticed nudge. Aric, who’d caught his partner as Emrys collapsed, had found himself waking in the night, more than once, to watch Em’s chest rise and fall: deep reassuring breaths.
“I know what that feels like,” Em said. “So do you; even you felt it. My father does like to shout.”
To shout, to glare, to bring all that fairy-lord attention to bear on them like searing white light through a focus-glass. Em’s father wanted his child back, now that that child was grown and powerful and useful. Emrys did not know precisely what might be wanted; Em and Aric had agreed that they did not desire to find out.
Emrys couldn’t not be magic, but had been trying for smaller, less visible expressions of it. No ghost-portals. No major healings. More throwing-knives and woods-competence, fewer lightning-whips and charged swords. At the moment, during the long days, not even much shapeshifting.
“But this won’t last,” Em said, and then looked surprised; the surprise slid into a more physical reaction, still fairy-edged but with the jawline, the hips, the flatter chest, that Em tended to wear when feeling more masculine. “I…don’t know why I said that.”
“You’re not usually a weathervane.”
“I’m not a good diviner or far-seer. I spent so long trying not to—” Em shook his head. “I don’t know what that was. Something just said so, right then. Instinct.”
“I trust you. Will you have to use it? Lady Caris, maybe?”
“Yes—no.” That answer got interrupted by another headshake, more frustrated. “I said yes but I don’t know why. If this is what not using the power feels like—random ideas that I apparently have to say out loud—I’m going to have to melt down a rock or two.”
“If it’s that or be talkative. No, seriously, it’s not hurting you, is it?”
“No, it felt like an answer. The way you know a track, or the price of that terrible cloth. You asked, I knew. I don’t like it.”
“Something soon?”
“Tomorrow, I think…oh, thank you for that. Did you have to?”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s useful. I’d’ve told you to ask. I think it’s gone, actually, something feels…like less pressure. Our employer was looking at the river. The bridge.”
“You think something’s going to happen on the bridge?”
They both paused; Em let out a huff of breath, not exactly amused, after a second. “No, sorry, I don’t know. Or it was the wrong question. Is it raining again?”
It was, a rushing fluttering ripple of noise. Aric bundled them both more properly into folds of bedding. “It should stop by morning. Moving fast. You should get some sleep.”
“Me? You were out playing advance scout.”
“Both of us.” He wrapped himself around Em, being an oversized tawny blanket. Em’s hair tickled his face. “We’ll deal with tomorrow when it happens.”
“We will.” Em yawned, and wriggled against him, pleased. “Love you.”
“Love you,” Aric told him, and kissed the top of his head. Em settled in against him, comfortable; and after a moment his breathing settled too, more even, drifting into sleep.
Aric, who should also sleep, shut his eyes. He did trust Emrys, with everything he was, with no hesitation.
They’d deal with the morning, with the bridge, with their employer. They had some warning, thanks to Em; and he and Emrys could handle just about anything. He wouldn’t say everything—he was only human, and not twenty years old anymore, and Em was half-human and under a decent amount of stress at the moment.
But most things, yeah. He’d bet on the two of them any day. Together, side by side.
He was still worried. But right now, this moment, he had Em in his arms, and if there was peril it’d be considerately waiting for the morning, and his toes were warm, and his body shimmered with the satisfaction of making love to Em. Secure in all of that, Aric listened to the patter of drops overhead, and let himself slide into sleep as well.
When he woke, Emrys was already awake, watching him in lazy feline silence. He still had on the shape Aric had gone to sleep with; as long as possible, Aric guessed.
They kissed softly, deeply; no time for more. Em yawned, too widely to be entirely human, shaking himself awake; the ears got more rounded, less unearthly, while he found his jacket and boots and thick socks. Aric tossed him a before-breakfast apple—Em could eat more than any six mercenaries of Aric’s acquaintance—and watched in contentment as his heart-partner devoured it.
Outside, the morning rattled and clamored, the noise of the river and the layers of waterfall bouncing from rocks and trees and far-off clouds. The Haver was always a deep swift line, not the widest but quick and violent; today it frothed in rain-swollen impatience.
Aric looked at the bridge, a theoretically sturdy wooden construction; looked back at wagons full of expensive cloth; looked back at the bridge. Pushed a loose braid of hair back over his shoulder. He hadn’t tied that leather well enough, last time; maybe he should redo it, or ask Em for help.
