“All right, I’ll go visit him,” said Ix petulantly. When he stood, he swayed, his face suddenly ashen; Eric darted over to catch his weight and lower him back into the chair.
“Don’t stand up too quickly,” Eric advised. “You’ll overexert yourself.”
“Don’t stand up too quickly?” repeated Ix with disgusted incredulity. “Do you hear yourself? Standing up can’t possibly count as exertion.”
“It can, and it does. As does throwing things, and stomping up and down the room,” said Eric, draping a blanket on top of him. He added, “And shouting.”
“I’m not shouting!” shouted Ix, and then saw the smile that Eric scrunched off his face, and caught himself. He moved the blanket so it covered himself better and Eric tucked him in like a child. “Being fully human is terrible, is it always like this?”
“Not all the time but being ill? Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes worse. At least you don’t have a running nose,” saidEric. He knew that whatever affection he felt for Ix ran deep, because the man was behaving like a child mid-tantrum and he somehow found it amusing.
“Yes, that does seem disgusting,” muttered Ix, who had a reputation for severely disliking anyone sniffling near him.
“What do you want me to say to Gary?”
“Gareth? What about him?” Ix asked blankly.
“Petra said he was on his way over.”
“I’d forgotten. Yes, well, it turns out when you miss the season’s biggest event, every courtier and their blasted mother notices and sends you long lamenting notes about missing you.” Ix didn’t look like he cared. “What rumors are going around, have you heard? I want to know what they’re saying about me.”
“You speak as if I went to the Hunt. If you don’t want to host, I’ll see them and ask myself.”
“Yes, perfect. You can be my hostess, I’m going back to bed,” said Ix.
He was already wobbling back to his bedroom, which was fortunate because Eric’s face made some sort of expression before he could control it. Noblemen usually had their wives serve as their hostesses. Ix probably hadn’t meant to compare Eric to being a wife, but the fleeting thought of it was… not unwelcome.
Eric ended up writing a second letter to Lymond himself, in the moments before their friends descended. He contemplated forging Ix’s handwriting, since his imitation was more than passable by this point. But Eric liked to do things like say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and send calling cards ahead of turning up on someone’s doorstep, pleasantries that by and large Ix ignored and so he sent it from himself in the end.
“It’s just me, I’m afraid,” said Eric when Gareth turned up with Marty and Philippe in tow.
“Sorry about your father, old boy,” said Marty as they gave Eric a quick hug around the shoulders. They’d all been friends for long enough to know the full story there, and Eric was glad he didn’t have to explain it or justify himself.
“Thank you. And for coming to the execution. You didn’t have to.”
Gareth shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, of course we did. Told the girls to stay at home though, and glad for that, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Didn’t expect the King to bring you up to his dais, either.”
“I think maybe it was for him as much as me,” said Eric, the realization coming to him belatedly. “Father was his friend for so long, that must have been a betrayal. He was closer to Father than I was, at the end. I’m sure everyone was watching for his reaction as much as mine. Anyway, let’s not talk of that. How was the Hunt?”
It was not the most subtle of movements, but his friends let him redirect them with little more than an eye roll.
“Jasper did well this year. Felled an enormous raven the size of a dog, its beak was filled with human teeth, I saw it myself. Absolutely grotesque. Not nearly as much fun without our usual campfire antics though,” said Philippe pointedly, as if waiting for Eric to pick up on that side of the storytelling.
“What’re they saying about Ix?” Eric asked, ignoring him for now.
Philippe looked disappointed to not get the story right away. “That he’s in some sort of disgrace. That Ruben forbid him from attending for some scandalous behavior or whatnot. Except there’s no trail as to what that scandal might be so it’s like rats eating their own tails.”
“I did hear one murmuring that he might be involved in the treason attempt,” said Marty apologetically. “Since it wasyour father, and you and Ix are friends, and you and Petra conveniently also weren’t there.”
“I suppose I need to show my face in public soon, or people will start speculating I’ve been dragged into some secret dungeon.” Eric scowled. Surely it seemed logical that the son of a traitor would want to just lie low for a little while? “In any case, the truth is much more boring. He’s ill.”
“Ill? Has he ever been ill before?” asked Gareth dubiously.
“It was some magic thing. You know I don’t pay attention to magic,” Eric lied. While it was probably fine for people to know that Ix was feeling unwell, he wouldn’t want the full details of it getting out and Philippe was, with all good intentions, a terrible blabbermouth.
Marty snorted. “A magical illness? So it only affects demons and mages? Poor Ix, he must have contracted it from those blockheads at the Magisterium. Barely any of them came to the Hunt either.”
Likely because the mages were busy trying to find a cure for Ix, though Eric held his tongue on that one.
