ELEVEN
Rhaezon had chosen the umber tunic for practical reasons.
The weave was durable. The cut was suitable for stable work. He had spent approximately four seconds on the decision, third page, second row, and had not thought about it again.
He was thinking about it now.
November crossed the kitchen toward the table where Davn was already seated, and the morning light caught the fabric, and Rhaezon stood at the counter with a kettle going cold in his hand.
It brought out the color of her eyes.
She sat down across from Davn and said something that made him exhale through his nose — Davn's version of a laugh. She poured herself water from the stone pitcher at the center of the table. Then she looked up at Rhaezon, still standing at the counter with the kettle, and her face settled into something quieter.
"Thank you," she said. "For thinking about what I might need before I knew to ask for it."
She said the words the way she said everything — direct, warm, complete.
He stopped.
The kettle hung in his grip. Two seconds. Three. The umber tunic against her brown skin. The way her collar sat slightly open at her throat because she ran warm and had already loosened it, though it was barely past dawn. The strand of dark hair that had already escaped whatever she had done with it this morning and hung against her jaw.
The scales along his neck rose before he could prevent it. He turned his head a fraction, angling the scarred side away from the light.
"It was practical."
He set a plate of food in front of her — the grain porridge the cook had prepared, sliced fruit from the lower orchard, and the pressed seed cakes she had eaten three of yesterday. He had paid attention to what she ate. He filed this under household management. He set the plate down without meeting her eyes and walked out of the kitchen.
The armory occupiedthe lower level of the estate's north tower, built into the rock shelf where the plateau dropped away to the river gorge. It was cool here, the stone walls sweating faintly in the morning, and the weapons racks lined the far wall in rows that Rhaezon kept in precise order because precision was something he could control.
He pulled the first rack forward and began removing blades.
The long-handled polearms first. He checked each bracket, wiped the mounting hooks with an oiled cloth, and replaced them at the exact spacing prescribed by the estate's quartermaster manual, which he had written himself. Then the short blades. Then the throwing axes. He removed, cleaned, and replaced. The rack had been organized days ago. It did not need this. The mounting hooks were clean. The spacing was correct.
He reorganized it anyway.
A shadow appeared in the doorway that was too quiet to be anyone else.
Davn looked at the weapons rack. Looked at Rhaezon. Came in and sat on a supply crate against the near wall, leaning back and crossing his leg.
Rhaezon pulled a blade from the third row and checked its edge with his thumb. The edge was fine.
The silence lasted a long time. Not uncomfortable — it was never uncomfortable with Davn, who had a talent for being quiet. But the silence had a different texture today. Heavier. Rhaezon could feel Davn's attention on him like a hand resting on his shoulder, patient, unwavering, not asking.
He replaced the blade. Pulled the next one. Checked it. Replaced it.
"She's—" The word caught. He breathed. Tried again. "I—" Worse. He set the blade down on the table and pressed both palms flat against the wood. "I don't know how to?—"
He sighed. It came from somewhere low and old and tired.
"It's a problem," he finally admitted.
"I know."
"I don't know when it happened."
"I do."
The words sat in the cool air of the armory. Davn did not elaborate. Rhaezon turned his head and looked at him. Davn looked back from the supply crate with his pale arms folded across his chest and his white face carrying an expression Rhaezon had seen before — on trackers who spotted weather coming from the far horizon, who watched the cloud line build for hours before the first wind arrived. He'd watched this coming from a long way off. He just hadn't said anything about it.
