“No, it—it is a lot. I apologize,” Adrissu murmured, his voice becoming gruff. He did not want to apologize, but in their time together he had become quite skilled in judging what words and tones to use with Ruan to avoid conflict. “I do not need an answer right now. I only ask that you continue to think on it. Take as long as you need.”
For a long moment, Ruan was silent.
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” he said, nodding. They both regarded each other, Ruan’s expression blank; but he had not pulled away or gotten out of Adrissu’s lap, so that had to count for something. Ruan’s eyes searched Adrissu’s face for something, and after a long moment, he seemed to find it, as a small, familiar smile started to spread across his features again.
“Nowcan we go to bed?” he asked, leaning forward again to nip at the tender skin just below Adrissu’s jaw, right above his throat. A low growl escaped him, pleasure curling along his spine.
“Yes,” he agreed, and they left the conversation behind.
Polimnos had continued to expand in this time, and Benil Branwood finally got the mine expansion that he had been pursuing for years. With the increased usage of the quarry, and the opening of newer mines below, came a glut of new workers from other parts of Autreth, some alone and some with families.
The new citizens of Polimnos also brought along some troubling reports and rumors: Gennemont, the largest city-state of Autreth, was expanding its borders to push right up against other, smaller city-states. Many speculated that it was only a matter of time before their expansion exploded into violence; and at that point, who was to say whether or not Gennemont might start incorporating smaller cities into its own jurisdiction?
Knowing the constant cycles of war that mortals flung themselves into so often, this development troubled Adrissu. If Gennemont did make a bid to start conquering other cities, Polimnos was far enough away to not be in any immediate danger, but still large and prosperous enough now that there was no doubt in his mind it would eventually be a target.
But when he mentioned the rumors to Ruan, the human only laughed.
“Sounds like steady work to me,” he said. He laughed, but the thought struck Adrissu like a thunderbolt, filling him with terror. If Gennemont did invade, of course Ruan would fight. He was a mercenary, a soldier. The idea that Ruan would eventually die had always been there, but it was far in the future, when he was an old man. The jobs he took now were dangerous to some extent, but they were not extended battles. They were notwar.
Ruan noticed his sudden ashen appearance, the laugh falling away from his face. “Adrissu,” he murmured, now concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Adrissu shook himself out of it, before he could start spiraling. “Nothing,” he replied, managing a weak smile. “I was... thinking about work. Forgive me.”
They dropped the topic then, but it only bolstered Adrissu’s resolve: Ruan must agree to undergo the ritual.
But Polimnos continued to grow, and Adrissu continued to guide it through his seat on the city’s council. Roads were improved, old buildings were torn down and rebuilt with stronger materials, and business flourished with the increased export of stone. All in all, he was quite pleased with the direction that the city was moving, and with his place in it.
In contrast, Ruan almost never seemed satisfied in his work. He rose through the ranks steadily, taking on more prestigious jobs—dangerous hunts for rare, powerful creatures, or guarding wealthy individuals in place of caravans. Whatever pleasure he got from the jobs themselves, he always sounded disappointed when he would tell Adrissu how his ranking in the guild had risen–when he broke the top twenty, then the top ten, even the top five.
“Why do you always sound so displeased to be one of the best at what you do?” Adrissu asked him, when Ruan told him that his standing was now at number four with a deep scowl.
“I don’t want to beone ofthe best. I want to bethebest,” he answered, smirking. “Even second place is only the first loser.”
Adrissu had stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head and laughing. “You sound more like a dragon than me.”
“Then you should understand,” Ruan had retorted.
Adrissu should not have been surprised. Ruan had always been ambitious, but now that he was no longer in the throes of wild youth, that ambition had been sharpened to a ruthless point. Adrissu liked to think that maybe he’d had some influence on the human as well, fostering that sense of yearning for success and glory.
Through it all, the thought of the soul-binding ritual was always in the back of Adrissu’s mind. Out of respect for Ruan he only brought it up twice a year; but like clockwork, he would ask every six months if Ruan would reconsider. The first time or two, Ruan had only echoed his previous uncertainty, asking for more time to consider.
But then he started to refuse outright. The first time, Adrissu had been so taken aback at the sudden denial that he had abruptly left, fearing he might erupt with anger, or worse, break into devastated tears. This too seemed to startle Ruan, and though he continued to refuse, he did so less flippantly and with more room for discussion.
But the conversation always ended the same: Adrissu would keep pressing, and eventually Ruan would tell him that he didn’t want to talk about it any more; things would quickly settle back into their happy routine, until Adrissu asked again six months later.
Time was a strange thing for a dragon. Objectively, he knew ten years was a long time for a human to age, for a city to expand, for a relationship to grow—yet it was nothing at all. It was a season, an interlude, a welcome sabbatical from his previous studies, which he had put aside in favor of spending time with Ruan, or working with the members of the council.
A decade was so little time, yet it was nearly a third of Ruan’s life so far. He had changed so much since the first time Adrissu had seen him, yet each change was familiar, as if he was becoming someone Adrissu already knew. His sharp edges were tempered, so the radiance of him shone more brightly: the parts of him that were strong and courageous and confident. Though, Adrissu often thought, he was probably biased. As far as he was concerned, Ruan could do no wrong; nevertheless, Ruan had always proven himself to be a worthy mate.
Their relationship was something of an open secret in town; they were not entirely public about it, but those who knew them could see it quite clearly. For all his intense privacy, Adrissu was glad at least that Benil Branwood had ceased all his talk of engagements and his daughter, after he saw Adrissu and Ruan together for the first time.
So it was no surprise when, at least a year after the last reported skirmish between Gennemont and its closest neighbors had ended in an uneasy truce, Maya Graylight had asked for a private sit-down, wasting no time upon her arrival and asking abruptly,
“I trust Ruan has told you the news?”
Adrissu blinked, looking at her blankly. She had already worn the signs of age when they had met. Now her hair was fully gray, and the lines of her face had deepened, partly with time and partly with stress. But her demeanor was the same, and she met his gaze with the same hawklike countenance, as he considered what she might be referring to.
“No,” he finally said, gesturing for her to continue. That she expected him to know anything Ruan knew was not a surprise, but the idea that Ruan had kept something from him had taken him aback.
