by Kai Butler
“No, please don’t. I’ll find my own way out,” Tiral said. He walked a few paces, his gait unsteady. When he looked over his shoulder, Zev forced himself to close his face, to not show any of the uncertainty that was roiling his stomach.
With a nod, Tiral moved off, disappearing into the maze. Zev sat, heavy, his whole body giving way.
He should have said yes, he realized. There was another reality, where he said yes and told Tiral that he would do whatever it took for them to be together. And they would marry.
The word made him shiver and he shook it off. Tiral wasn’t the type to play him for a fool. There was no chance that he was using Zev.
But, Zev couldn’t shake the unhappiness that the idea of marriage evoked. He couldn’t help but think that it would be giving in to a terrible fate.
The thought rose again of employing Tiral, giving him a job at the Laft Group. But in order to save Gret, he’d need to pay him enough money to raise eyebrows. An amount of money that would feel like purchasing the man, and then, as his employee, Zev would be unable to touch Tiral. He couldn’t imagine that such a solution would solve the ache in his chest.
This was better. Loneliness he understood. Loneliness he could manage with trysts and physical comforts, the challenge of his work filling every moment he had free.
With a sigh, Zev buried his face in his hands and hoped it would be enough.
“Are you lost?”
Tiral looked around for the source of the voice, trying to find out how far away he was from the right direction. He hastily wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief and forced a smile.
“Yes, I believe I am,” he said. “I came out for the cooler air and now I find more air than I need and no way back to warmer climes!”
“Easily solved,” someone said, stepping forward. The man had been near a corner, but his movement made his position obvious. He was of a height with Tiral and had wide shoulders.
It should have felt ominous, but there was an awkwardness about the man’s movements that made his size less of a threat. As he came closer, Tiral got a better look at him and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Yun Rit?” he asked.
With a chuff of laughter, Rit said, “You have the drop on me. I am not sure I recall your name.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think we’ve met,” Tiral said. He offered his hand. “Lord Gret.”
Taking his palm, Rit gave it a firm shake. “Ah, the man who’s got the whole ton talking. I’m told your dance card is impossible to get on.”
Releasing Rit’s hand, Tiral smiled down at the ground. “Only because I don’t dance.”
“Truly? I thought I saw you earlier with Yuls,” Rit said, beginning a slow walk. Tiral took two strides to catch up and then matched his sedate pace.
“Yes, Mister Yuls can be quite persuasive,” Tiral said. “I’m out of practice and so haven’t danced with many this season.”
“I’d love to help you get back in practice,” Rit said.
The Tiral of old might have floundered with the gentle flirtation, but Tiral reminded himself that there was no reason to hesitate. Zev had made his feelings clear.
“Only if we might practice in private first,” Tiral said, aware of the intimacy that the words implied. “I would hate to embarrass you.”
“I’m sure you could not,” Rit assured him.
They exited the maze and the sudden light from the party must have lit his face. When Rit turned to him, his smile faded and he pulled out his own handkerchief to offer him.
“So bad as all that?” Rit asked. “The dance was quite lovely.”
“Yuls and I will not be having an encore,” Tiral assured him obliquely. “It’s best that I look for new partners.”
“I’d be happy to lend our dance floor to the cause,” Rit said. “Although I’m not as skilled at the art as Yuls.”
With a more genuine smile, Tiral said, “Then I think we can both enjoy our missteps together?”
“On that we can agree,” Rit said. “I find nothing quite breaks the ice like stepping on one another’s toes.”
“As long as there are no broken toes to go with the ice,” Tiral said, amused.
“Just so,” Rit said. “Although perhaps you might ruin this pair of shoes, instead. The shoemaker was quite insistent that they’d be all the rage, but they rather hurt to wear.”
Glancing at the polished black shoes, Tiral said, “They do make your feet look quite fetching.”
“It’s no good, then! I have to keep them,” Rit said. “Alas, my poor toes.”
“Perhaps we could do something less strenuous than dancing, then. Dinner?” Tiral offered.
Rit looked at him and his smile turned a bit sympathetic. “You are allowed to take some time before jumping back into the fray. There’s no one who’d call you a coward for waiting a few months, or even the whole season. I… have experience with my partner leaving me alone on the dance floor.”
Raising his eyebrows at the unexpected empathy, Tiral said, “I fear that more time would only serve to calcify my affections. If I were given the right distraction, I might remember him fondly as a beginning-of-the-season flirtation. If I spend too long moping over him, I might cast myself as one of the heroes in a romantic drama and give the whole thing too much weight.”
Accepting Tiral’s explanation, Rit said, “Then I’ll happily accept your dinner invitation.”
“Wonderful.” Tiral smiled down at his hands. With a sigh, he looked back at the lit windows that indicated the ball was still in full swing. “I suppose we must return before my sister assumes I’ve gotten lost.”
“In her defense,” Rit said, “you did get lost.”
“No need to rub it in,” Tiral laughed, any peevishness lost at the sight of Rit’s gorgeous smile. “What were you doing out here anyway?”
“Avoiding an awkward confrontation,” Rit said. “My father has been pushing me to marry an aging Count. I rather hoped he wouldn’t be at the ball tonight and I might enjoy some company that was not bosom chums with death.”
“On that, I can be relied,” Tiral said. “Perfectly healthy, I avoid sports that are in any way dangerous, and I hope I am young enough in your eyes that death and I are distant acquaintances.”
“Perfect,” Rit said. “Shall we, my lord?”
Taking the proffered elbow, Tiral let Rit lead him back inside.
17
The rest of the ball had been an experience that Tiral couldn’t quite regret. His broken heart had been soothed by Rit’s pleasant company and the promise of dinner had kept him from getting too morose.
It was only later, with his mother and Edah flittering about him like butterflies, that he realized he had been successful in completing one of his given tasks: identifying and charming someone with enough wealth to rescue them all. His own response to Rit’s kindness seemed to take on a different tone in light of that. He tried not to think too much on it, but the idea that he was that sort of manipulative cad sat wrong with him.
He wanted to tell Rit of his financial woes at the first opportunity; only the memory of Zev’s advice kept him from declaring it at their next meeting. Rit was kind and open and funny, and given all of that, Tiral thought that maybe they might make a good match. He wouldn’t spoil his own chance at happiness and leave Rit to his parents’ chosen match for him without at least giving them both an option of a more appealing outcome.
So, they had dinner at a club that Tiral had found out he was a member of by dint of being his father’s son and Lecc’s brother. He was able to reserve a private room with little fanfare and the meal was tasty enough. Rit looked around as they waited on their main course, having polished off the appetizers with easy conversation about the season’s theater choices.
“This seems to be a very… distinguished club. I haven’t been inside before,” Rit observed, gesturing to the woodwork decorations that were both aged and costly.
“You needn’t be tactful on my account,” Tiral a
dmitted. “I’ve only been here a few times. My father and brother were members, and I think they thought I’d be in line with their style.”
“You aren’t?” Rit asked. “To the untrained eye, my lord, you do appear an earl.”
“No interest in horses or gambling,” Tiral said, as if confessing the gravest of sins. “And my manners may suggest otherwise, but to the trained eye, I am quite uncouth.”
“Now I know you’re funning me,” Rit said. “I’ll not hear it said that your manners are any less than exquisite.”
“Exquisite, perhaps,” Tiral nodded. “Up to court standards? No.”
“It's a poor court that misses out on your company,” Rit said. Tiral felt a flush rise on his cheeks. He smiled down at the table, and before he could respond, the waiter brought their main course. He watched as Rit delicately took a bite of the food, acknowledging Rit’s pleased expression with one of his own.
“What interests you?” Tiral asked. “You must have some vice that keeps you busy.”
“Unlike you landed gentry,” Rit’s teasing was already fond, and Tiral allowed him an intimate smile. Zev had told him that often flirtation was not saying anything when you wanted to speak. “I have to work, and that takes up most of my time. What free moments I have to spare after that are spent on star charts.”
“Star charts?” Tiral asked, intrigued. “You are an astronomer, then?”
“I dabble,” Rit said. “I always wanted to travel, but my family’s work keeps us close to Viga. I haven’t had the chance to venture anywhere farther than Lus.”
“You should come visit Gret, then. We’re quite a bit farther than Lus, although I admit there’s little of interest for an astronomer in our system.”
After he spoke, Tiral realized how forward it sounded. Rit looked surprised but pleased. He nodded, his eyes catching on Tiral’s.
“Only if you can promise you’ll be there to introduce me to the pleasures of your system,” he said.
The word pleasures caused a slight shiver to travel down Tiral’s spine, and he realized he didn’t have to be uncomfortable about the implication. It wasn't that far off from what he should be suggesting after all. No one wanted to marry a husband who could barely speak the words, much less perform the act.
Rit was handsome and had a good way with words. He should have been perfect. He actually was, but every time Tiral saw him, he longed for Zev all the more. He missed the challenge that was always in Zev’s eyes, the way that he took Tiral’s jokes to their most absurd conclusions.
He missed the flirtation that felt both light and deeply true. With Rit, his attempts at wit felt uncomfortably like pretend, a younger brother trying on his elder’s shoes. Rit had never seen him at his most awkward, and so didn’t know what a change it was for him to string sparkling words together rather than simply stating his intentions like he would in the introductory paragraph of a research paper.
Tiral easily agreed that he would play tour guide and the rest of the evening passed with pleasant conversation that stayed on topics Tiral knew would be safe. It wasn’t until the end of the evening, when they both stood, that Tiral realized that he’d had more to drink than he’d thought. His vision spun lazily, and he shook his head to clear it.
“The wine?” Rit asked. “It was quite potent.”
“I had hoped that we might do some after-dinner gambling,” Tiral said. “But it looks like I’ll have to cancel.”
“Then you won’t be able to see what a poor gamester I am,” Rit said. “I cannot be sorry about that.”
They parted outside the club, Rit assuring Tiral he could find his own way home. In the car, Tiral leaned back and thought about his future. He could see a marriage with Rit, even a happy one. They would go out often, perhaps travel as Rit’s business required. He would introduce Rit to what pleasures there were on Gret, but the reality was that they likely wouldn’t spend much time there. It would be run by Edah, and the estate would be managed well in his absence.
Rit would get the title his parents were hungry for, and they’d likely have children quickly so that Rit’s side could be reassured of keeping the title within the family. Hopefully they would look like Rit, with his easy grace and smooth, dark hair. They would probably have his smile, too.
It felt like a prison he was constructing for himself.
At home, Masub took his greatcoat and gloves and said that he would send a maid with some tea to Tiral’s room.
“Oh, no, I should —" But he trailed off and shook his head. “Thank you, Masub.”
The room was already warmed, and his valet helped him change into a dressing gown. The tea service was placed on the table nearest the window so Tiral could sit in his favored chair. Tiral appreciated the silence, as it allowed him to ponder the future he was locking himself into.
He had only a scant moment to enjoy it, as Edah came in, her dress fluttering in her wake. She took the seat across from him and said, “Well?”
The expectant gleam in her eye made him force a smile. “He’s quite wonderful.”
“Is he?” she said happily. “Oh, do tell.”
“He’s quite kind and is definitely after a ring this season,” Tiral said. “He has an interest in astronomy.”
“Well, there you go!” Edah clapped her hands. “You’re quite a match, as you, too, study space.”
“I study how to make crafts that will travel through space,” Tiral said. “It’s hardly the same thing.”
“Oh, you!” Edah huffed. “He seems kind, you said?”
“Very well spoken, easy to converse with,” Tiral said.
Edah’s face fell. “You feel no tendre for him?”
“I will in time, I imagine,” Tiral said valiantly.
“Is it still your… tutor?” She took one of the biscuits that had been arranged on the tray and bit into it with a crunch.
Sighing, Tiral rubbed at his eyes and leaned back to watch her prepare a cup for him. He took it gratefully and sipped it to gain another moment for thought.
“It’s still fresh, my feelings for Zev. But I can’t let that stop me, as it’s clear that he will never return them.” He stared down at his cup and the few tea leaves that had settled there.
“Do you love him?” Edah probed. “Enough that you’d give up comfort and stability and the estate?”
“Yes, but also no,” Tiral answered. He took another sip of tea. “I love him, but that doesn’t mean that I will give it all up for him. How can I when he will offer me no love in return?”
“Well, then, may I wish you well with Rit?” Edah asked. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm so that he looked up to see her sympathetic gaze.
He also saw a glow on her face that hadn’t been there when she had arrived two weeks ago.
“And you? Masub tells me we’re getting quite a few visits from Lady Socis.”
Color rose in Edah’s cheeks and she said, “She’s quite brilliant, you know. She knows so much about agriculture! More than some of my professors, even! She wants to open her own labs on Socis! Can you imagine! She’ll be able to start an entire cottage industry, positively everyone will be sending her their samples.”
“And I assume she thinks that you’re brilliant in return?” Tiral probed.
“I’ve no idea,” Edah said. “But she did say she wanted to take me on a visit she was planning to the Laft Group later this month to see how they would set up a satellite lab.”
Hiding his smile in his tea, Tiral was glad that at least one of them might find a love match that was advantageous.
“I’ll go,” Edah said, her color still high. “But have faith, Tiral. If he seems kind, and if he’s easy to get along with, perhaps love can grow out of such fertile soil.”
The words buoyed him the next morning when a new fob arrived from Rit. It was state of the art and a beautiful gold that would stand out among the more popular silver ones. It matched his coloring as well, and he used it to call Rit as soon as he had it synched.<
br />
Their conversation left him with a smile and the promise of a picnic the next day. It wasn’t until they were most of the way down the path that he realized how close he was taking them to where he and Zev had picnicked once. He remembered how the sun had looked on Zev’s skin. He gestured to a different tree, and they spread out the blanket together.
“You’ll think me such a city boy, but I rarely do more than take a drive in the park when I’m here on Lus,” Rit admitted after they’d spread out the feast that Tiral’s cook had created.
“Perhaps you think me too much of a country bumpkin for having suggested such a thing as eating outside,” Tiral teased. He offered over an appetizer and to his surprise, Rit leaned over and ate it out of his fingers.
The intimacy left his fingertips warm, and he glanced down, then up at Rit who was chewing thoughtfully.
“I think you know what I think of you,” Rit said quietly. “And it is definitely not that you are anything less than a man of distinction.”
“You’ve stolen a compliment I’d give to you,” Tiral said, the words automatic. “Although I’d add kind and charming, as well.”
He vaguely remembered a conversation that he and Zev had had, in which Zev had taught him how to turn compliments back on the giver. They’d practiced all afternoon, trading increasingly absurd compliments. Best eyebrows, most accomplished breather.
Would Rit, with time, also learn how to make him laugh like that?
Rit looked at him with a smile, “You leave me flat-footed! How am I to answer such kindness?”
“By helping me finish some of this bounty,” Tiral said, gesturing. “I worry my cook thinks I am starving.”
They made good progress on the food, and Rit was telling him a funny story about his childhood when Rit’s fob chirped. Rit took the call, though reluctantly, and so Tiral waved off his apologies.
“Don’t think on it,” Tiral said, helping to pack up the plates and blanket. “I am owed such after abandoning you at a gambling hell.”
Rit laughed, taking the basket from Tiral. “You can hardly call such a serious club a hell of any sort. My own butler thought it was too stuffy to let me in! He was sure I’d be turned away.”