Milo didn’t actually see the woman until he was right on top of her and trying to slew sidelong so he didn’t bowl her over. Ellis still had hold of Milo’s hand, pulling one way while Milo tried to yaw the other, and giving Milo’s arm a solid yank in its socket when Milo skip-stomped to an abrupt sliding halt just short of sideswiping a sturdy cenotaph commemorating the Green Coast War. Ellis flailed with a laughing “Oi!” as he turned, so he didn’t see the woman’s gaze take Milo in, surprised, then move to Milo’s earring and twist into… Milo didn’t know. Something sour. Outraged. Hateful.
“So sorry!” Milo stammered, thrown, confused, but he creased a grin at the woman, as friendly as he could make it, and tapped at the brim of his hat. “My apologies, syr.” He took a step back. “My friend and I were only—”
She spat. At Milo. At his feet. Spat.
Everything in Milo just sort of seized up and stopped working. He stared.
She glared back. Openly hostile. So many things slid over her face Milo couldn’t keep up. Disgust. Anger. Hatred. And underneath, the fixed foundation across which all of it played, a feral little glee at what she’d just done, and a What are you going to do about it? challenge.
Ellis said “Oi!” again, not nearly as friendly, and tried to put himself between Milo and the woman.
Milo didn’t move for a moment, couldn’t, but when he finally managed to jerk from his dazed contemplation of the well of ill will in the woman’s eyes, it was to the realization that they were attracting a small crowd. They were stood in a bundle in front of a monument to Kymbrygh’s war dead, the three of them, Ellis shocked and wanting to know “What the deuce was that for?” and the woman stepping back some, brazenly smug, eyes on Milo. Her gaze slid to Milo’s earring again, flaring into something so revolted Milo thought if he opened himself and Saw her, she’d be crawling with sickly reds and fulsome browns and pulsating greens the color of vomit.
“It’s....” Milo shook his head, took a deep breath. His hand was still locked in Ellis’s, so he tugged, backing away and pulling Ellis with him. “Nothing. A misunderstanding.”
The woman snorted, disdainful, then merely turned and walked away. Like a normal person. Like what she’d just done hadn’t been shocking and uncalled for and… bloody damn, it had been hurtful.
“Misunderstanding my arse,” Ellis snapped, still watching the woman and trying to pull Milo’s hand, no doubt meaning to follow her. “She spat at you! What even was that?”
The earring. Milo had watched her gaze land on it and turn wrathful. Had watched it.
He stared at the memorial—names etched in cold gray marble, dragons on the deep-carved coat of arms. Remembrance of honored dead in a war from which his mam emerged a hero. Milo wondered if that would’ve made a difference to the woman, had she known. He rather suspected… not.
“Dunno,” Milo managed, weirdly humiliated and stricken and wounded, and sixteen other kinds of feelings he had no idea how to parse. “Some people are just naturally unpleasant, I reckon.”
Except that wasn’t it. Milo knew it wasn’t. That Warden in Wellech, and now this.
I’m from bloody Whitpool! Milo wanted to shout, right there in the middle of the walk. I was born there. So was my mam, and her mam, and her mam. My ancestors were Dewin and dragonkin before yours even knew Preidyn existed!
“That’s one way to put it,” Ellis muttered, still fuming.
Milo wished he had the comfort of anger. All he could manage was shock and hurt and a strange lump of shame he couldn’t fathom, but there it was, hunkered in a sick little ball in his gut. And all he wanted in the world at that moment was to keep Ellis from knowing why. Milo didn’t understand it. He took great pride in everything the earring symbolized, all the years and work that went into earning it. Now all he wanted to do was slip it off and tuck it into his pocket so no one could see it. And Ellis guessing the source of the inexplicable humiliation, even guessing it was there at all, was just more than Milo could stand to consider.
“Right then.” Ellis gave Milo’s hand a bracing squeeze. He pulled on a grin. It might have been just a touch manic, a touch roguish. “Let’s get this out of the way, then.”
It wasn’t ideal for a first kiss—standing in the middle of a fairly busy walkway, having just been thoroughly insulted and unnerved by some horrible woman who apparently hated Milo for existing—and it was nothing more than a peck, really, a soft press, chaste and simple. It still took a tender swipe at Milo’s senses while at the same time reassuring him somehow. It settled his breathing. It took his heart from a rabbiting thwup-thwup-thwup to something steadier, gentler. Almost composed. Almost all right again.
Ellis pulled back, peering at Milo closely, assessing. Whatever he saw, it made him smile.
“The thing is,” Ellis said, hand still gripping Milo’s like he never meant to let go, “before this, I thought it might be nice to get drunk with you on sparkling wine. Now I think we should both get proper bladdered, scoff a half bushel of oysters each, and then snog until we can’t breathe.”
“…Oh.” Milo’s wobbly smile made his eyes water. He didn’t care. “That....” He swallowed. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
Somehow all of a sudden brave, as though he’d borrowed courage from Ellis, Milo leaned back in, hesitant, but when Ellis only gave him a cheering smile, Milo tipped his chin and set a soft, grateful kiss to Ellis’s mouth.
Better now, more settled in his skin again, Milo pulled back, only a touch. “Actually,” thin and feathery, “it might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“LISTEN, I....”
Ellis trailed off, a frycake in one hand and a cup of sparkling wine from the Hollow Valley region of Wellech in the other. He had a dusting of powdered sugar at the corner of his mouth. Milo wanted to lick it off, but Ellis seemed hesitant, a bit uncomfortable, so Milo didn’t.
Instead he laid a hand to Ellis’s arm. “All right?”
“Yeah, it’s only....” Ellis shook his head, mouth pursed. “I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I ought to apologize.”
“For what?”
They were waiting for a serving of breaded oysters and hugging close to the stall for the warmth from the oil kettle as they cooked. The smell was greasy and heavy and savory and divine, and not incidentally making Milo’s stomach grumble impatiently.
Ellis waved his hand around before indicating the direction of the square and Preacher’s Row, and presumably what had happened there.
Milo rolled his eyes. “For pity’s sake, Elly, you had nothing to do with—”
“No, I know. And I do realize it’s sort of absurd.” Ellis shrugged. “But I Dreamed it only the other night. Or something very near to it, anyway. And I feel like I should’ve been able to—”
“I thought your Dreams didn’t work like that?” Milo’s eyebrows nearly took flight off his forehead. Ellis had spent a great deal of his boyhood vacillating between annoyance that he couldn’t Dream “properly” and so wasn’t considered a witch or part of a sect, and relief that it was one less bone of contention between him and his tad. “Can you control it now?”
“No. Not really. And what I can do, I can’t do very well. Nothing like Mam.” Ellis shoved half the frycake in his mouth. Now he had more sugar Milo wanted to lick off. It was a little disappointing when Ellis did it himself. “I still can’t make the Dreams come, and the ones I get are few and far between, and usually quite mundane and useless. But I Dreamed of that woman. I didn’t realize until after it happened. I recognized her but I didn’t know how. Not until only a moment ago, actually.”
He held the frycake out toward Milo, contrite, as though offering recompense for an imagined sin. Milo, rather bold after that kiss, leaned in and took a leisurely bite, careful to keep eye contact, and equally careful to lick his lips slowly as he pulled back. Ellis was watching Milo’s mouth with rapt attention, so he saw it clearly when Milo smirked. But he also dipped in for another kiss, so M
ilo considered it a job well done. Even better, it made Ellis smile, soft and secret.
“If you could’ve prevented it you would’ve.” Milo took hold of Ellis’s hand, deliberate and braver than he actually was, and guided the last bite of frycake into Ellis’s mouth. No sugar on Ellis’s lip this time, but Milo followed it with a kiss nonetheless. Because he could. “If you don’t know that, I’ll know it for the both of us. So let’s just forget about all of that, shall we? I don’t want to think about her.”
The girl in the stall was just now scooping their oysters into a little boat made of folded newspaper. She handed it over with a red-cheeked grin.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ellis muttered.
Milo thanked the girl and stepped back from the booth to give the next customer room. He missed the warmth immediately and so pushed in close to Ellis as they ambled in the general direction of the bandstand, burning their mouths on too-hot oysters and looking for beer to go with them. Because yes, sparkling wine might be the done thing with oysters, a perfect palate mix for connoisseurs. But when there was breading and frying involved, Milo was of the firm opinion that the connoisseurs could hang, because that was a job for beer.
“Why are you not more bothered by it?” Ellis blurted, as though it had been pushing at his tongue and he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. “After what happened in Wellech, I can’t—”
“Look,” said Milo as he steered them toward a beer stand that also sold pots to put it in, because he hadn’t thought to bring a cup with him. “I don’t know. It threw me proper when it happened, and all right, it does bother me. I could stand someone hating me for something I’ve done, but for existing?”
He stopped just shy of the line for the stand and turned to Ellis, taking him in yet again, because Milo kept getting sideswiped by the fact that random passersby could look all they wanted, but Ellis was here with Milo. On purpose. Because he’d asked.
“I don’t know.” Milo looked away, uncomfortable even thinking about it all, much less talking about it. “Mam says frightened people are the most terrifying thing in the world, because fear crowds out sense and compassion, and it’s contagious and easier to catch than the pox. One person’s irrational fear of something harmless can turn into a mob in minutes, and....”
They’d been talking about an editorial in one of the Llundaintref papers that had apparently struck so many nerves—for and against—it had been reprinted in nearly all the local ones a week later. Purity Party rot, really, outrage over the Queen’s firm declaration that the United Preidynīg Isles were resolved to stand beside their allies in Colorat, now that the dictator in Taraverde who called himself Premier was massing at the borders of Nasbrun, and apparently eyeing up Błodwyl now too. Preidyn had cut off trade—the banks were scrambling, the unions were crying foul, and the shippers were tamping.
And somehow, it was the fault of the Dewin. At least that’s what the Purity Party said. And, apparently, people who didn’t know better had started to agree.
“She’s warned me to be careful.” Milo puffed a laugh, small and not at all amused. He caught Ellis’s fretful look and shook his head. “I mean, not at home or anything. At least… well, no one in Whitpool has been awful or looked at me any funnier than they usually do. Only.” He huffed and waved back toward where the woman had… done what she’d done. “I reckon she meant things like that. It’s only that I didn’t really think it would....” He couldn’t finish.
“Didn’t think it would really happen here.” Ellis nodded, a grim set to his mouth. “I’ve been seeing it more too. In Wellech, I mean. Of course, it’s always been there against magic to some degree, but most people seemed to understand that was my tad being an arse because of....” He rolled his hand, then his eyes. “Well. You know. But it didn’t really leak in, if you know what I mean. And I was changing—trying to change it. I’m in the process of changing it. But now all this scapegoating and ignorance turning up in casual conversation is getting worrying, and I haven’t been able—”
“Elly, no. No. You’re doing what you can. It’s all you can do. And I rather....” It got caught in Milo’s throat, a small lump of emotion that was a bit embarrassing, a bit too much, but it was also important, so he pushed past it. “I rather, ehm. Kind of really fancy you for it.”
Milo really did. Because he knew what Ellis had been doing. Enlisting the fishing boats to watch for refugees in their waters, because some were fleeing up through Eretia, and the tides of the Goshor swept them past Preidyn and to Wellech’s doorstep. Finding them homes and employment, and doing his best to ensure Wellech welcomed them, despite Folant and his loud opposition. Horse-trading with the members of Wellech’s council to entice them into the odd vote against their Pennaeth’s continued efforts to kneecap his son.
“Really fancy you” wasn’t quite adequate to capture the admiration Milo held for Ellis for all that, let alone everything else that made him who he was. Milo wasn’t sure there was a phrase that would do.
He tried not to wince when he chanced a look at Ellis, not really expecting displeasure or amusement at what he’d said, but still hoping he didn’t find either. But Ellis’s eyes held the same steely hue as the sky, bright and earnest against his dark skin, something honest and truly concerned in his gaze. Milo, in no uncertain terms, absolutely had to smile in the face of such open sentiment.
“That woman. Just now. It was one unpleasant moment in the midst of lots of brilliant ones.” Milo shrugged. “I’d rather live in the brilliance for however long it lasts.”
Ellis’s smile was slow, but when it came, it was pleased and easy and genuinely affectionate, as it had been when he’d greeted Milo at the station.
“As long as I get to live there with you sometimes.” Ellis tugged at Milo’s arm. “C’mon, let’s get you your beer.”
SOMEHOW, IT was easier after that. Maybe it was the beer. Or the wine. More likely it was the fact that something happened worse than even Milo had imagined, and it didn’t ruin the trip. It didn’t ruin anything. It did change things a bit. Somehow.
The space between them was full of an unnamed intimacy now, where before it had been merely space. Bridgeable but not yet bridged. Except now it had been.
They watched the last leg of the working boat races from the eastern side of the harbor’s jetty. The colorful topsails of the gaff-rigged cutters jostled for place in the distance while spectators laid bets on which boat would take the Brass Cup top prize in the end. A culmination, apparently, of a summer-long race that today’s leg would finally determine. Which meant the locals had the advantage of knowing which boats were already ahead, and which could be counted out regardless of where they finished today.
That didn’t stop Ellis from placing small bets with various fellow watchers based on random things that seemed aimed at nothing more than making Milo laugh.
“That one?” Ellis pointed to a bright yellow sail whipping over the waves to catch the three ahead of it. He shook his head. “It’s got to be some youngster only learning. That is not how you handle a sail.”
Ellis would know. He’d been sailing up and down Wellech’s wealth of rivers and waterways since he could walk.
Still, it put Milo in mind of the little spitter, so he confirmed the bet with the woman next to him, and grinned as she shook her head at him with a It’s your money you’re throwing away look.
“I’m taking that one,” Ellis said, resolute. “With the blue sail.”
The woman gave him an incredulous smirk. “I mean, I’ll happily take your money, but you should know that The Sapphire has the highest handicap in its class, and has still been sitting at the bottom of the pole all summer.” She turned to Milo, grinning. “You should tell your....” She trailed off, looking right into Milo’s eyes, before her grin turned wide and knowing. “Ah, I see.” She huffed an eloquent snort, snatched Ellis’s money out of his hand, and turned back to watch the race.
“What?” Milo frowned and turned to Ellis
. “What?”
“Nothing.” Ellis gave the woman an affable glare, repeated, “Nothing,” and shrugged at Milo. “Only, I like the color.”
The woman snorted again before shaking her head and sliding a sly glance at Milo. “Your eyes are very blue.”
Milo frowned, bemused, and then thought Oh, and… well, that was sort of it for a while as it sank in. A grin he couldn’t help if his life depended on it split his face. Sliding his arm through Ellis’s, he rested his chin on Ellis’s shoulder, watching the blue sail bob through the water on its way to dead last in the race.
“SHOW ME.”
Milo was half-asleep, blissed out and warm as toast. But he opened his eyes at the soft demand. Smiled.
“What would you like to see?”
Ellis turned over onto his back, sleek broad body dark against pale linens, and waved toward the ceiling. “Something… pretty.”
“Hmm.” Milo squinted around the room. Thinking.
The inn’s lighting was electric, which made it a bit more difficult, snagging light from inside a teardrop of glass. The small sconce on the wall still burning would have to do, since he wasn’t about to leave the warmth of the bed and turn on a lamp.
Stars, he decided, and eased a gleaming splinter, small as a glow worm, from the filament. Another and another, until a swarm hovered ’round the sconce, bobbling in sleepy waves, and then he sent them to the ceiling. Pushed. Tugged. Tweaked.
The mist he drew from Ellis’s breath, stretched it like taffy, wove it into the blooming aurora, then swept it out, thin as silk thread on a spindle. It sank back, fine gossamer, then broadened, an iridescent backdrop to the summer constellations they used to lie beneath as boys.
A nudge from Ellis, warm toes against Milo’s shin. “Now show me what it Looks like.”
This part was easy. The shimmer of the galaxy opened across the inn’s low ceiling, a tapestry made of stardust in vibrant colors become soft and pasteled against the black of the spaces between stars. People supposed there was a lot of emptiness in the great void of the universe, but Milo knew that the colors of the cosmos still swayed to the song of its violent birth in boundless harmonic swaths of opaline incandescence.
Sonata Form Page 12
