Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 46: How Could You Love Someone Like That?

Tristan woke to an empty bed.

Weak sunlight filtered through the window, curling around the curved spine of the tree that grew in the centre of the room. Books littered the walls, their golden jackets dulled by the misty weather. Tristan felt for the other side of the bed; the pillow was still warm. Owain couldn't have left that long ago.

His fingers found a piece of parchment.

Tristan half-rose, shoving the hair out of his eyes. The words swam into view.

Moinesca,

I'm off to a bakery for some pastries. Wait for me here.

O.

p.s. yes, I'll get a cucumber sandwich.

Tristan smiled, setting the note down on the nightstand. Yesterday, he thought, had gone better than he'd ever imagined. Owain had kissed him and then stayed over. Here. In this bed. The faerie prince's words came back to him, slow as hot honey. I'm not going anywhere.

Tristan shoved his feet into slippers. He was reaching for a shirt when someone knocked on the door, and his smile grew. Oddly formal, but that was to be expected for Owain; he'd grown up in a place where courtiers wore manners like armor.

"Oh, good." Tristan thrust open the door. "I hope you brought cinnamon buns, because I'm planning to eat them for breakfast and then have you for desser—" He paused. "Oh. Gods. Sorry. I thought you were..."

"Someone else," Faolan finished.

Heat burned in his ears. "Correct."

The wolf shifter arched an eyebrow. He was dressed in a frothy light blue jacket today, his silky hair tied in a short ponytail. A white shirt came up around his throat in swaths of lace. He was also, Tristan noted, carrying a long whip. So either Faolan was going horseback riding, or he was into some things that Tristan hadn't anticipated.

"Can I come in for a second?" Faolan asked.

Tristan pushed the door wider. "Sure."

Faolan trailed him into the room. Tristan picked up a mug. Set it down again. He wasn't sure what the etiquette for having one of the princess's royal guards in his bedroom was, but he suspected Faolan wasn't the type to enjoy a cup of tea anyway. Tristan settled for holding out a box of biscuits.

"You're dressed very formally for a Saturday morning," Tristan observed.

"That's why I came, actually," Faolan said, accepting a biscuit. "Talulla wants to see you this afternoon."

Tristan's smile was wry. "Another round of human bowling?"

"No." Faolan ran a hand over the whip. There was something familiar about the gesture, as if he'd used it many times before. "She's called a meeting of the court. Attendance is mandatory for every courtier. I suspect she wants to discuss the war effort."

Tristan set down the box of biscuits. The heat faded from his face, replaced by a slow, sobering cold. "You think she'll agree to help us?"

"I have no idea." Faolan stuffed the biscuit in his mouth. "But I think you ought to ask."

"Knowing Talulla," Tristan said, "it'll come with strings." He set down the box. "Do you think it's just the one kidney she'll be wanting, or should I prepare to give her two?"

Faolan cut his eyes to the fireflies hovering around the books, giving his head a subtle shake. The message was clear: shut the hell up. Tristan thought of Faolan's words on his first day in Salvatoria. Careful. The palace walls have ears.