He had to tell Linden how he truly felt. End it.
Beyond this, he didn’t really think. Just reached out and found Rowan’s hand gripping his. Tethering him as the last of his jitters and aches faded in the wake of the potion.
“I should call Linden,” he whispered. He only realized how that sounded when Rowan stiffened next to him.
“You should rest.”
“Yes, but I should tell him about this.” His declining health, andthis.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.”
“Briar.” There was an edge to Rowan’s smooth baritone. “I wish you’d let me care for you. Even if just as your friend.”
Briar was no expert on withholding feelings, but he thought he’d done an admirable job of keeping it together. At the desperate concern in Rowan’s voice, he broke.
“I’m twenty-five.” He sucked in a breath that did nothing to calm him. “I’m twenty-five, and I’m dying. Rowan, I don’t want to—I’m scared.”
The dam shattered. Tears turned the world a blur, and each subsequent breath he tried to take failed to fill his lungs all the way. Without hesitation, Rowan dragged him into his arms, wrapping him up, holding him together while he fell apart. With anyone else, Briar might have been embarrassed. His words came through hyperventilating sobs.
“I—just—wanted—to—do something—important.”
“You did.”
“I’m—scared—I’m gonna—die and—nothing I’ve done will have—mattered.”
“It mattered. Trust me on that.”
“I thought—if I can’t live a long life, at least—at least, I wanted a memorable one.”
“Oh, Briar.” Rowan drew back enough to look at him. He must have been a snotty, blotchy mess. “Briar, you’re mad if you think anyone could ever forget you.”
Cradling Briar against him with one arm, he leaned to grab a box of tissues with the other. Briar accepted them and, once finished mopping his face, turned his forehead into Rowan’s chest and wept. Vatii settled on Rowan’s shoulder to nuzzle Briar’s hair.
It took some time to compose himself. Rowan didn’t rush him, but as the seconds ticked by, Briar had to return to reality.
“I should really get some sleep. My head is pounding.”
“Can I get you anything?”
What Briar said next didn’t sound even a little flirtatious, a testament to how tired he felt. “You could undo the back of my dress, or else I’ll have to sleep in it.”
Rowan helped him stand. The back of the dress had pearl drop buttons that hooked through eyes in a line down his spine. Briar gave instructions on how they worked. Rowan’s fingers were gentle unlooping the first, his knuckles warm where they brushed bare skin.
He’d undone a third of the buttons when a portal opened by the door.
The sounds of merriment from the other side snuffed out as the portal shut, and Linden stood looking at them, an awful expression on his face. They all stood in silence, the situation too large for any singular exclamation to encapsulate it.
Linden broke the quiet first. “Of course. Shameless. In the bed that I made for you.” His voice shook with betrayal, and Briar’s guilt went sharp enough to cut.
“It isn’t how it looks,” Briar said. Only, it was, and it wasn’t. His feelings existed, but he’d had no intent to act upon them now.
“Then tell me how it is.”
Rowan spoke up this time. “Briar was ill. I was helping him so he could get some rest.”
“I’m expected to believe that?” Linden said.
