“Hmm,” Ruan replied through a mouthful of cheese. “Sounds boring.”
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t you ever read anything for fun?”
Adrissu raised an eyebrow at the provocation. “Would you like something to read? My library is extensive. I’m sure there’s something even you might tolerate.”
To his surprise, Ruan’s face flushed a deep red, and he looked away quickly rather than make some quip the way he usually would.
“No,” he said, his attention suddenly consumed by the mundane task of slicing the block of cheese in his hand. Adrissu’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, noting the red that crept all the way to the tops of his ears, and the twist of his lips into an uncomfortable frown.
“You can’t read,” he said just as the thought occurred to him, and Ruan’s scowl deepened. “Is that it?”
But he knew the truth; it seemed obvious now. Ederick said that he’d grown up as an orphan; of course he had received no formal education. While Polimnos did have a single schoolhouse for the basic education of children, if he had had no parents to enforce his attendance, who else would have brought him to school? No one would have cared, especially if he were as rowdy and unruly as Ederick had claimed; and immediately, Adrissu imagined an even younger, more immature Ruan.
“No, I can’t,” Ruan finally muttered, still looking down at his food. For the first time Adrissu could recall, he didn’t have the same arrogant, brash air about him. Now, he was a child again: jealous of what he did not have and too embarrassed to admit it.
Adrissu opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. The small part of him that he had been trying unsuccessfully to squash wanted to comfort Ruan, to offer the chance to learn how to read, and to teach him everything he knew. The rest of him balked at the very idea of it, and he raged that magic beyond his understanding had linked him so inextricably to someone so completely unsuited to him. A tiny lifespan and a tiny brain to match—he bit his lip and looked back down at his book.
After a moment, he could feel Ruan’s eyes flicker back over to him, watching him—waiting. HewantedAdrissu to offer to teach him, he knew. He would not give the human the satisfaction of thinking Adrissucaredabout him. He would not give in to that part of himself. After a moment, he felt Ruan’s gaze slide off him; and after another beat of silence, the young man gathered his things in silence and stepped back outside.
He did not come back til sunset, when his obligation was at an end. Ruan opened the door; but instead of coming inside, he stood in the doorway and called out to Adrissu, “I’m going home.”
With a sigh, Adrissu reached across his desk for the gold piece that he had set aside for Ruan, tossing it across the room to him. Ruan caught it easily in his free hand. Their eyes met. Ruan’s face was suddenly inscrutable, but he didn’t look away. Heat rose in Adrissu’s face, and quickly he looked back down to his work. And without saying goodbye, he heard Ruan close the door behind him as he left.
Chapter Four
Theysettledintoastrange routine after that. Eager for adventure, Ruan would take jobs through the mercenary guild whenever they were offered, so he often left Polimnos for extended stretches of time. When he was gone, usually for two or three weeks at a time, Adrissu pretended that he had never existed; and he could typically ignore the ache in his chest that always sprung up when he was absent. Once, however, Ruan was away for two months, and Adrissu wondered and worried over his absence. But then he was back with a new scar and a story to tell.
He always came back, though he never announced his return to Adrissu: he would simply show up the morning after he’d returned to town to take up his usual post. He would come inside for lunch, and at the end of the day Adrissu would toss him his gold piece. And so their routine would continue, until a different job came up, and Ruan left again.
Once—only once—he mentioned hunting dragons.
“The man who submitted the job to the guild claims to have killed three dragons,” he said over lunch, his first day back, after having been gone for a five-week excursion. “The guild doesn’t take jobs like that, but I gave him my information for if he ever hunts down another. Imagine being able to say I’d helped slay a dragon!”
Despite the way his heart had leapt anxiously into his throat, Adrissu could not stop a snort of derision at Ruan’s eagerness. The human scowled, but Adrissu only shook his head.
“What? You think I couldn’t do it?” he pressed.
“No,” Adrissu replied. He glanced away. It was a dangerous topic. “And I don’t think that man is being truthful with you, either.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it takes much to kill a dragon,” he said. “Much more than a handful of humans with swords or spears.”
“He did say he usually has a mage with him to help,” Ruan muttered, folding his arms across his chest.
“Hm,” Adrissu said. He forced his voice to ooze disinterest. “I’m sure that helps, then.”
“Do you think you could do that?” Ruan asked after a moment. “Use your magic to kill a dragon?”
Adrissu was silent for a long moment, considering the question. His heartbeat must have been audible in the silence between them; but human senses were dull, and Ruan only kept peering at him with the same half-curious, half-goading expression.
“Yes,” he finally answered. “But I will not help you kill a dragon, Ruan.”
“Name your price,” Ruan said.
“More than you could afford. More than your supposed dragon slayer could afford.”
