He’d think about it. Each day at home felt like an eternity. Each morning, there was a heartbeat or two where he woke up and hadn’t remembered yet that everything had gone wrong, that Brannal would never be there beside him. And then it would crash over him, like it always did. Some mornings, Perian gave in to a bout of tears. Occasionally, he just pulled the covers up over himself and tried to go back to sleep. But most mornings, he made himself get up and face his new life.
Was there a hobby he could pick up? Should he try his hand at carving like Chamis? Should he see if he’d retained anything the doctor had told him and try his hand at making his own salves and tonics?
What else could he do? He was managing all right with the physical exertion, but the mental stimulation and emotional support were lacking.
Should he try to write any of this down? Would it even help? Was it too dangerous? Did he care if it was? Maybe it would help him to get the thoughts and emotions out. Maybe one day, he’d even want to go back to them. It might all feel keen and sharp right now, but surely it would fade. He loved his father, and he missed him, but he couldn’t recall him as clearly as he had when his father was alive.
Perian had changed, in ways that were interior and profound, thanks to his time at the castle. Maybe he would never change back to what he had been, but that didn’t mean he couldn’tcontinueto change. Perhaps he would manage to successfully adapt back to someone that could flourish here on his own. Just because he couldn’t imagine it right now didn’t mean that it wouldn’t happen.
The days were long, too many hours where his brain could be active. (Should he try to learn a new language? Should he declare that now was the time to become a good cook and haunt the kitchen until he was an expert? Or at least less prone to burning things? Should he try to take up painting? Darts? Horseshoe toss?) None of the activities that he could think of were what he was looking for. It still felt too close to the events at the castle for him to start trying to write them down now.
In lieu of making a decision, he spent most of the day rambling. If his body was tired, there was at least the chance that he was going to sleep at night. When he finallyrambled back into the house and Evalon told him that dinner would be ready in half an hour and he had a guest in the parlor, he assumed he’d forgotten that his steward was coming. He hadn’t exactly been tracking things very carefully these days.
But it meant he was altogether unprepared when he strode into the parlor and the figure turned from where he’d been staring out the window and it wasBrannal, all muscles and leather andpresence. He washere.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Perian froze. It was like his whole body stopped working because it didn’t know how to process this. Brannal’s face lit up as soon as he saw Perian, and then he was striding across the room and enfolding Perian in his arms, holding him tight, tight, tight.
Perian just stood there, still frozen, even as part of him melted. Part of him clamored that this was exactly what he wanted more than anything, and it washere, and wasn’t that the most wonderful thing that had ever happened?
Butwhywas he here? What had happened?
Brannal finally pulled back, but he cupped Perian’s face with his hands and peered into Perian’s eyes.
“You’re all right?” he demanded. “They didn’t hurt you?”
And it was that, finally, that snapped Perian back to reality, and he took a step away, pulling out of the other man’s grasp.
“When they told me that everyone thought it would be better if I left and no one was there to say anything to the contrary?”
Brannal’s face twisted. “I’m so sorry, Perian.”
Perian fought with himself, part of him just wanting to gobble up the words, swallow every bit of them, clutch at the man again. But he’d stood alone in that room facing the Queen and Cormal because no one had chosen to stand by his side, and he couldn’t simply forget that.
“I imagine you were trying to make everything easier,” Perian said stiffly.
“No, Perian I—”
“—And I know it’s your job and this is difficult for you, but I’m not sure I can handle—”
“I didn’t know!” Brannal snapped.
Perian frowned. “What do you mean?”
Brannal scoffed, sounding deeply unhappy. “I was hunting demons.”
Perian swallowed. “I guess just one in the castle could be handled by others, right?”
Brannal’s face twisted, and he reached for Perian, but Perian stepped back again, and Brannal let his hand fall.
The words burned like acid, but Perian made himself say them. “I really needed you.”
Brannal nodded. “I know.” He grimaced and corrected himself. “I know thatnow. But it was a report of a huge nest of nightmares and wraiths. They don’t usually nest together, and it was so big and unusual that it was of huge concern. It was the only thing that could have pulled me away from the castle while you were still unconscious. I took Arvus and Delana with me. Simiala and Tinnadal, too. It was out past the tenth district watch station. It took twelve days to get there. It was practically as far away as you could get from the castle and still be in the country.”
Oh. Well. Could Perian actually rank himself higher than the safety of everyone in the country?
“Did you get them?” he asked.
