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“Of course we are.”
“You keep doing things for me. Every time I need something. Before I know I need it. What can I do? For you.”
“You already have. You’re trusting me. With your road, your magic, letting me see.”
“Of course I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t. My father wants me to seduce you, so you’ll be on our side. Assuming you’re susceptible.”
Garrett’s entire self went hot, and cold, and full of yearning, under crystal sun.
“Don’t be offended,” Alex said. “I understand how you feel about that. I’m not doing it.”
Why, Garrett almost said aloud. Why not? “I would…I’m not…that’s…”
“Oh, if you’re wondering about the ruby.” Alex folded a leg under himself, flowed to his feet. Garrett scrambled up too, belatedly. Alex finished, “You asked once how I paid for your gifts. I never told you. But that’s unfair. No, I don’t use my allowance. I’m working. In spare moments. You liked my penmanship. A lot of people in the city need contracts drafted, records kept, fair copies, letters home to loved ones, that sort of thing. With everything spelled correctly and easy to read. They pay decently well. I’m not changing the world, but I’m good at it. So that’s your answer. One less mystery to bother about.”
The fashionable youngest prince of Averene, at a desk, in an office, ink on his fingers. Patiently correcting spelling and writing out drafts for merchants, ship captains, lovers. Garrett took in this new facet, this new shape to the carving, entranced. “Youarechanging the world. A message about safe cargo. A letter to a husband at home. Giving people answers that matter to them.”
“I like,” Alex said, entertained, self-dismissive, “the way you picture it. Yesterday there was a contract about sewer construction. I do have to go; Father wanted to see me, this evening.”
“You’ll come back.”
“Tomorrow. If I can.”
“Come back,” Garrett said. “Come back and—and find me. Please.”
“So you don’t need to worry?”
“So I can talk to you. I can tell you more about magic. If you want. I haven’t even told you about the battle-pony harness. Or the strawberry murder. I haven’t said thank you.”
“And you don’t have to. Tell me about the strawberries tomorrow. I’m fascinated. Your road is beautiful.” Alex took a step, waved, added, “Eat something later!” and swung away down the side of the hill.
Garrett clung to his statue, to his book. Alex’s handwriting. Gifts, so many, so exactly right. He hadn’t told Alex that simply the sight of him had been a gift, a reprieve, an exhale from tightened lungs, a hope he hadn’t even known he had.
Except he didn’t. Because Alex wasn’t flirting with him, no longer offering to be shirtless and winsome. Serious, instead. Respectful. Explaining his own income, removing the mystery.
And Garrett hadn’t said enough. He still didn’t know how. But he hadn’t hurt Alex again, at least. He could try again. Tomorrow.
