by Rachel White
"This is yours," said Naravi contemptuously. He was holding something out before him as though it were poisonous, his face an ugly scowl. "I don't know why it was mixed up with my things. You're lucky I didn't burn it."
This turned out to be Lieutenant Harn's jacket, torn and faintly bloodstained. Lieutenant Harn pushed himself into a sitting position. "Thank you. This—"
"Don't speak to me." Naravi tossed the jacket unceremoniously down on the bed. "Get out of my house."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, his footsteps disappearing down the hall. After a moment, Miana detached herself from Rallis's side and followed him out. Lieutenant Harn watched the place he had been for a long time.
"I'm sorry about him," said Rallis, more to fill the silence than because he really meant it.
"He saved me," said Lieutenant Harn. He was still looking toward the doorway where Naravi had stood. "When the engine fell, I was impaled through the shoulder by a piece of wreckage. He pulled it out and helped me back to Kavck. I was barely conscious."
The site of the citadel's impact was two miles west. To support Hesse's killer the entire way—and then to have Hesse's killer staying in the motherhouse, recovering in his own bed—it was nearly inconceivable that Naravi would endure such a thing. And yet…
"Naravi has deeper waters than anyone realizes," Rallis told him. "Including himself. I'm sure he's struggling with his choice even now. He might…he can be troublesome. And arrogant and imperious and catty. But he's loyal to a fault and fiercely protective of those he cares about. He has a good heart. When it comes down to it, he'll do the right thing."
Lieutenant Harn nodded. His eyes were very dark, ringed with deep shadows. "I'm sorry," he suddenly said.
"For what?"
"For what happened last year, with your cousin. Hesse Yy. I was the one that killed him."
"Oh."
"It was…a mistake." Lieutenant Harn looked down at his lap, at the jacket lying by his hand. "I was overzealous and reacted too quickly."
"Nasir—" Amun began.
"I could have deescalated the situation. I didn't, and his blood is on my hands. I realize I've hurt your family enormously. I'm sorry for it."
The words were simple and straightforward. Lieutenant Harn appeared sincere. In the year since Hesse's death, Rallis had imagined meeting his killer, but his fantasies had never played out like this. Not only would there be no satisfaction in violent revenge…there would be sincere pain, because Amun liked Lieutenant Harn. Because, despite everything, Rallis liked Lieutenant Harn, if only for his single-minded dedication to Naravi. Because he seemed like a good man who had made a terrible mistake.
Rallis coughed. "Thank you. I…appreciate it. So will Miana. He was her brother."
He didn't mention Naravi, and Lieutenant Harn didn't ask. They both knew Naravi would appreciate the apology about as much as a slap to the face.
Lieutenant Harn nodded. "I'll speak to her as well, of course. I'm very grateful to her for letting me stay here."
Though his attention was still focused on Rallis and Amun, he was obviously starting to droop, and it seemed a good time to leave him be. Rallis touched Amun's shoulder. "I'm going to go find Naravi. You should rest—"
"I'm not that injured—"
"The physician said you should rest. You swore that you would." Rallis caught Legionnaire Saura's bright gaze. "Make sure he doesn't exert himself. The servants can help you settle in. Just ring the bell to summon them."
She snapped him a crisp salute. "Of course, Citizen Yy. All right, Lieutenant Taarq, it's bedtime, sir."
"This is insubordination," Amun protested, as Legionnaire Saura began to crowd him toward a nearby bed. "I'm your commanding officer—"
"It's for your own good, sir."
Rallis left them there, going to find Naravi where he knew he would be. As a child, when he was upset, Naravi had always found solace in the back garden, hiding himself among the plants like a wild animal. Sure enough, he was in the back by the pond, gazing into the still waters. He didn't look up when Rallis approached, but slid sideways to make room for Rallis on the flat stone he had taken as a bench.
"You were right," Rallis told him, joining him by the water's edge. "About Suul Thrun. He arranged everything. I didn't believe you and I should have. I'm sorry."
Naravi scoffed. "I told you."
"Were you hurt when the prison fell?"
"Obviously not. It didn't fall very quickly."
"Even so."
"I wasn't hurt," said Naravi again, mulishly. Rallis glanced at him, taking in the hard edge to his profile, the set of his features and the way his eyes were narrowed. Anger and frustration, but something else as well.
"It's very kind of you to allow Lieutenant Harn to stay in the motherhouse."
Naravi made a rough noise in his throat. "I didn't allow anything. If it were up to me, he would be out on the street. Can't the fucking Jevves take him back already?"
"I expect."
"Then they should."
"I'm sure he would leave if you told him to."
"I did tell him to," Naravi snapped, "and he's still fucking here, isn't he?"
"Naravi—"
"I hate him." He drew his knees to his chest and pressed his face against them. "I wish he had died."
"He says you saved him. You brought him back to Kavck."
Silence. Rallis hesitated, then drew him in with an arm around his shoulders. Naravi went unresistingly, settling himself in the crook of Rallis's arm, his head down and his arms still hugging his knees.
"Why did you save him?" Rallis asked. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."
For a long moment, he waited, expecting nothing. Then, "He let the prisoners out," said Naravi quietly, without looking up.
"What?"
"When he came to release me. There were others in the prison too. No one had come for them. After…after he let me out, he went around to open the rest of the cells so that they could evacuate. It was why he was still in the prison when it fell. Everyone else escaped." He still hadn't lifted his head. Rallis watched him turn his House ring around and around on his finger. The ring he had inherited from Hesse. "He must have saved at least twenty people. Most of them were Adesi. He didn't need to do it, either."
"Naravi…"
"I still hate him." Finally, Naravi lifted his head. His eyes were fierce with unshed tears. Of rage, Rallis thought, not sorrow. "I don't care what you say. He might have saved me, and he might be your ally, but I hate him. He killed Hesse. I'll never forgive him for that."
"I know. You don't need to forgive him."
"I never will."
There was a strange note to his voice, an unfamiliar note that made the hair on the back of Rallis's neck prickle. For a moment, he thought it was murderous, and that Naravi was planning another attack against Lieutenant Harn, but that didn't make any sense. If he had wanted to kill Lieutenant Harn, he would have taken advantage of the chaos after the prison fell—would have throttled him then, or simply left him to bleed out in the desert. In bringing him back to Kavck, he had made the active choice to spare Lieutenant Harn's life, and it seemed unlikely he would change his mind now. But what did the note mean, then? Rallis couldn't identify it.
"Are you glad he survived?" Naravi asked after another moment.
"I don't care that he survived. I'm just glad you did. Gods, Naravi, you're going to kill me with stress if you keep up this nonsense."
Naravi scoffed again, but the venom had gone out of the sound. It was more of a laugh than anything. "I'm born under a bad star," he said, falling back, as he always did, on ideas of destiny and fate. "It's not my fault. It's just—"
"Destiny. I know."
"You can't be mad at me for it."
Rallis pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to ruffle Naravi's soft hair. "I'm not mad at you. Don't stay out here too long. It's nearly suppertime."
Naravi batted
his hand away, but there was no venom in that, either. "I know. Rallis…"
"Hmm?"
"It's good you didn't die," Naravi told him. "During the incident with Suul Thrun, I mean. It's good he didn't shoot you. It would be very inconvenient for me if you had."
It was as close as he got to expressions of sincere emotion. Rallis rolled his eyes but found that he was grinning as well. "As long as you're not inconvenienced."
"I'm glad you understand."
"Of course." Rallis tugged his hair once more, for good measure. "Don't be late for supper," he reminded him, and left him by the pond. Nothing was resolved with him and Lieutenant Harn and all of the miserable, angry, bitter history between them, but the wild anger that had emerged on the Festival of the Thousand Suns wasn't obvious now, and Rallis felt safe in leaving Naravi alone. The rest could be dealt with as it came.
*~*~*
Back inside, he made his way to the sleeping chamber, curious to see whether Amun had actually managed to settle himself. Sure enough, he was tucked into Rallis's bed, looking rather long-suffering, all things considered. There was no sign of Legionnaire Saura, though Rallis expected she was somewhere nearby, ready to pop back in and menace Amun should he try to rise. Lieutenant Harn was fast asleep in Naravi's bed on the other side of the room.
"This is an indignity," Amun told him when Rallis entered. "I feel like a child."
"You're going to reopen your wound if you're not careful."
"I'm really not that injured."
Rallis sat on the mattress by his leg. "You keep saying that, and then you hobble around like an old man when you think no one's looking."
"That's not fair to say," said Amun, looking indignant. "Sometimes it hurts a little. It doesn't mean I'm going to tear myself open just by standing upright."
"I'd rather not risk it." Rallis hesitated, then reached out and covered Amun's gloved hand with his own, reveling in the fact that he could. Amun immediately turned his palm over so that he could wind his fingers through Rallis's, silk against skin but warm nonetheless. "Just rest for a few days. I promise the world won't fall apart if you do."
Amun's hand tightened against his own. Gods, gods, it was all over, they had all made it through and now Rallis could finally relax. The warmth of Amun's hand in his, the sight of him propped up among the pillows, dark and warm and real against the white cotton, the sound of the evening outside and the smell of Adesi cooking wafting in from the kitchens, even the glinting lights of the citadels in the darkening sky through the window—they filled him with a golden pleasure that replaced the blood in his veins with honey, turning him languid and giddy. When he laughed for no reason, Amun blinked but laughed too.
"You keep laughing," Amun said. "Will you tell me what's so funny this time?"
Rallis shook his head. "Nothing is funny. I'm just happy."
"I'm glad." Amun smiled at him, that warm, crooked thing that slid into Rallis's heart like a burr and stuck there. "Do you want to play khas?"
"I've never wanted anything more in my life," said Rallis, and meant it.
Epilogue
Five days recuperating, and Amun was ready to go back to work. More than ready: the mandatory bed rest had driven him almost to the point of insanity, and Rallis along with him. He had been so desperate for something to do, Miana had taken pity on him and dumped four years' worth of records from the vineyard on him so that he could start balancing their accounts.
Now, he was up and dressed and looked eager to get back to his duties. A part of Rallis was relieved, and another part was still seething with anxiety.
"Are you sure this is wise?" he asked, watching Amun straighten the collar of his jacket—a new one, for the old had been damaged beyond repair. "What if you hurt yourself again?"
"I'll be careful." Amun caught his eyes in the mirror and winked at him. "You don't need to worry."
"How can I not?"
"It's an easy job. Captain Durranqen is nearly as worried as you are. He's not going to let me do anything too exhausting."
"What are you doing?" Rallis asked, joining him in front of the mirror. Up close, Amun smelled medicinal, the lingering scent of the poultice he had to apply twice a day to his wound, but underneath that sharp tang, he smelled like himself, warm and healthy and familiar. They were close enough for Rallis to kiss him just by leaning forward, so he did, enjoying the simple fact that he could.
Amun hummed with pleasure but stepped back. "I hope you're not trying to trick me into staying here," he said brightly.
"Would it work if I was?"
"Probably, but you shouldn't. I'll be fine."
"You didn't answer my question," Rallis pointed out. "Are you avoiding it?"
Amun blinked. "You distracted me," he exclaimed. "It's not my fault. We're guarding the crash site."
"And that's not dangerous?"
"It's not expected to be."
Rallis glowered at him. "Who are you guarding it from?"
"Scavengers, mostly. Pieces of Jevite technology can resell quite highly on the black market. But I doubt anyone will actually be down there. Besides, it's not just me. My whole unit has been assigned to watch the site."
It made sense, though Rallis didn't like it. In the week or so since the section of the citadel had fallen to Lyr, Jev had been too busy repairing the rest of itself to worry about that runaway piece. The damaged chunk was still resting in the wastelands outside of Kavck, a burned-out heap of warped, melted metal and shattered glass nearly a half-mile long. Initial rescuers had gone through to retrieve the wounded and the dead, but the wreckage that had fallen along with the people was still where it had landed. There were rare and powerful items among the debris, including the broken pieces of the Exalted engine. It made sense that scavengers would seek them out, and therefore that they would need to be guarded. But…
"What if someone is down there? You could get shot again."
"No one has seen any movement. Scavengers know the legion is crawling over the area. They won't risk it. This is just a precaution." Amun touched the side of his face with one knuckle. He was wearing gloves, but the light pressure still made Rallis's skin prickle. "If you're that worried, come with me."
"Come with you?"
"We can camp in the wasteland together," Amun said. It was hard to tell if he was joking, but Rallis thought he was serious. "It's going to be hideously boring. We'll sleep on the ground in a tent. We can play khas."
"Would your captain allow it?"
"I'll tell him you're supposed to help make sure I'm not overdoing things. He'll appreciate that."
It sounded tiring and dirty, but he liked the idea of spending time with Amun, even if it was in a tent in the wasteland. "Fine."
Amun's silvery eyes widened. "Really?" he said, and then, "Excellent. I'll tell Captain Durranqen."
"Did you think I was going to refuse?" Rallis asked him, helping him with his buttons.
"I hoped you weren't."
"And it won't be dangerous?"
Amun caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. "It won't be. You have my word."
*~*~*
Because Amun was an officer, his accommodations were slightly better than the tent he had threatened: when he and Rallis reached the crash site, they found that someone had erected a makeshift officer's quarters, little more than a small shanty with a bed and a washbasin inside. It wasn't much, but the low-level legionnaires did have to share tents, so Rallis counted himself lucky. Besides, he supposed, if it became too intolerable, it wasn't far back to Kavck.
In the evening, when Amun went off duty, they sat on the bed together and played khas on Amun's familiar, scuffed board. Rallis won, but the score was close, and this time he had been devoting most of his concentration to the game.
"One day I'll win," said Amun, inspecting the unnae.
"Good luck with that."
Amun laughed and then shoved the board aside and climbed on top of Rallis. "You'll see."
"I'll believe it
when I see it," Rallis told him, grinning up at him. Amun's mouth covered his, once and then again, longer. He relaxed into the bed, soaking in the feeling of Amun's lips and the firm warmth of his long body. They hadn't yet gone to bed, due to Amun's injuries, and this was neither the time nor the place for it, but they could kiss for a while, and use their hands on each other, and did so.
Afterward, they pressed themselves into the bed together and dozed. Amun's head rested against Rallis's shoulder, one long arm thrown over Rallis's stomach, his feet nearly sticking over the edge of the mattress. Through the tiny shanty window, Rallis could see the ink-black sweep of the night sky, intercut with glittering stars and the glowing citadels.
He fell asleep and woke again later, stirring out of deep slumber with the sensation that something had happened: a noise had awoken him, or a touch. But when he blinked around the small room, everything was perfectly still and quiet. Even the legionnaires outside were soundless. For a moment, he began to relax back into the bed, thinking he had stirred from a dream—and then he saw the light.
It flashed in through the window, silvery bright and brief as a shooting star, illuminating the inside of the shanty as it passed over the rough-hewn door, the basin, the bed. Even Amun's dark skin took on a momentary sheen, like dew in the early morning. Then it was gone, and Rallis, sleepy and disoriented, was left trying to figure out if he had imagined the entire thing.
But through the window, in the distance, the silvery light was still glowing, radiating over the piles of citadel rubble to shine into the night.
He touched Amun's shoulder. "Amun."
Nothing. He was asleep. In the distance, the glow was brighter than before. Something about it seemed to call to Rallis. He found himself rising to his feet and taking his first careful steps toward the door. I need to wake Amun, Rallis thought, but his mind and body were disconnected. His hand touched the door latch and pulled it open before he had even decided to step outside.
Six legionnaire-issue tents were spread out in front of the shack, all of them dark and still. Rallis's legs carried him past them toward the far side of the camp, propelled by a desire he couldn't entirely identify, a desire inculcated by that eerie, silvery light. Curiosity, in a certain sense. More than anything, a need to search and find and uncover. Some part of him was desperately seeking something, though Rallis didn't know what. It almost felt as though the desire belonged to someone else. He didn't recognize the intensity of his search, or the goal. He only knew that it ached in his chest, driving him relentlessly forward.
