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He stepped into the hallway, and had to swallow the lump in his throat as he recalled their conversation at lunch.
“What if we’re eager to send you a message?” Wren had asked, and Galen had been touched. Despite not knowing them for long, these men had grown on him, and that was what prompted him to leave each one a parting gift—a sketch of their likeness on their beds.
Edward had rolled his eyes. “You were able to find him in the first place.”
“We will miss you,” Sparrow appealed to him. “Perhaps you can ask Madam Langley to st—”
“That’s not up to us,” Wren had said, cautioning Sparrow against being melodramatic.
Everything inside him thrummed, not only because he was flattered they wanted him around, but also because despite his own stubborn pride, he might’ve been convinced if he’d listened any longer. But he’d paid his debt in full, that was the agreement, the transaction, and it would do him no favors to stay.
“I shall miss you too,” he’d said, accepting the twins’ heartwarming hugs while masking his emotions the best he could. The Moon Flower was undoubtedly running on borrowed time, which was another reason for him to go off on his own sooner rather than later.
He went down the back staircase so he could pass through the apothecary on his way to the cobblestone street. Azriel had his back to him, helping two women make selections from different tinctures, and he thought it probably best that they not have a drawn-out farewell anyway.
Last night felt like a dream, one that would warm Galen on cold evenings. Besides, they were whores, not lovers. And even if they wanted to be, it was an impossible situation and one that Madam Langley would no doubt frown upon. In a different time and place, maybe they could’ve collected enough currency between them to tour the countryside together…
“It’s not a sign of weakness to rely on others, you know.” Madam Langley’s voice shook him from his melancholy thoughts.
He nodded, unable to look her in the eye right then. The truth was, it had been a weakness for him. And might become one again if he got too attached. But he did not need to explain that to her. He had a feeling she’d already figured him out.
“Be well. Use your…gift wisely.” She gave him a stern look, and he nearly grinned. “Come calling if you need us.”
He tipped his cap in thanks. “And I will be sure to let you know if I hear anything that sounds concerning.”
A look of understanding passed between them. He had a feeling the constable would only make more trouble for Madam Langley. He’d try his best to steer clear of the man, that was for certain.
He slowly made his way toward the exit, hoping to catch a free moment to bid Azriel goodbye. He owed him gratitude, if nothing else, and it would not sit well to leave without one more word with him.
“One moment,” he heard Azriel say to the customers, and when Galen glanced over his shoulder, the man was moving in his direction. The aura around him made his blue-green eyes sparkle, and Galen’s heart lurched as he remembered how he’d stared into their depths last night.
Azriel stretched out his hand. “These are for you.”
Galen gasped. Azriel was offering him several pieces of colored wax tied together in a bundle. And from the looks of it, every color in the rainbow was represented. “How did you—”
“I had them sent to the shop. I was afraid they would not arrive in time.”
“I don’t know how to repay—”
“They are a gift, so there is nothing to repay.”
The gift he’d left on Azriel’s pillow paled in comparison. What Galen wouldn’t give to show him how brilliant his aura was, especially in the throes of passion.
“Thank you,” Galen said around a tight throat, and before he said or did anything impulsive, said his goodbyes. “I hope one day to hear of the famously benevolent healer, Azriel.”
Azriel visibly swallowed as he stared at him. “And I hope one day to come across your art for sale.”
Galen dipped his head, his cheeks heating. No one had ever thought he’d amount to much, let alone become a good enough artist to grace walls.
His knees felt weak, but he forced himself to bid Azriel—and Moon Flower—farewell.
He didn’t allow himself to look back as he went out the door, refusing to regret any of his decisions. He’d have plenty of time for that later.
The day had turned colder, the wind biting his nose and whipping through his frayed coat. He turned up his collar but kept his chin up, his eye discerning as he passed through the town center. Other than a new candlestick maker’s shop that moved into the empty storefront vacated by the blacksmith, everything seemed unchanged, if somehow duller, like the shine had worn off. Or perhaps it was just him, feeling the sting of melancholy that he might never feel settled in his life or figure out where he belonged.
