Sui Juris
by imp

Sui Juris

imp

Summary

Kamet tells a small, accidental lie that spirals out into an enormous, humiliating lie. That would be manageable, maybe, if he didn't wish so badly for it to be true.

Notes

None

Chapter One

It was an accident the first time, the humiliating sort of accident that Kamet would forever shy away from in his memory. The village they'd chosen to stay in was not so large that the arrival of a pair of strangers wasn't noted, and after Costis came into town to fetch Kamet from the pub, his possessive hand on Kamet's back drew curious looks. So, too, did his refusal to say "I" when discussing anything about their accommodations: we are staying just outside the village, we require wooden cups and bowls for the table, the bed linens are for us. The last wasn't even true, Kamet thought wretchedly; or at least, it wasn't true in the way everyone in the village assumed it to be.

But still, Kamet had an opportunity to be honest. He was in town by himself, buying supplies from the general store, and the woman in the shop said, "Your man, the tall one, he placed an order for three live chicks. I told him to come 'round days ago."

Costis was off making maps and knocking heads in the name of his King; Kamet had worried about him for days. But he also knew the value of not making shopkeepers angry, especially when coin to appease their tempers was in short supply.

He made a decision, a poor one. He smiled, took his parcels, and said, "I can take them. My husband forgets these things, sometimes."

"You ought to take on more of the household running, then," the woman said. But the anger melted from her face; she tut-tutted when he offered to pay her for the basket that the chicks were to travel in. "I know you'll bring it back."

"Thank you, from both of us," Kamet said.

And then Costis' clumsy-tongued innuendo - we require chickens for our cottage, he'd no doubt said - became established as reality in the eyes of the whole village.

For the first few days after Costis returned (alive, but bloodied across one arm; Kamet called him an idiot and stitched it up), he lived in fear that Costis would return from the village and demand an explanation. But no one said anything to him, or he kept his counsel.

Kamet felt as jumpy as a rabbit in a fox den. He thought for sure his lie would be laid bare as such. Costis, however, said nothing. He seemed happy in Roa, though of course Kamet's main baseline for comparison was fleeing across a desert and almost dying every other day. Perhaps he was still unhappy and wished himself back in Attolia, amongst his brethren.

Perhaps, perhaps. But if anyone called him "Kay's husband", Kamet heard nothing of it.

If he'd been able to have his wishes granted, he would have wished for Costis to be very slightly different: less tactile, less broadly affectionate. It was his way to clap Kamet on the shoulder, to pull him into hugs, to thump his back. That was just part of who he was. Unfortunately for Kamet's pride, and perhaps also his sanity, those same actions performed in the town square made them seem painfully intimate.

No one, looking at Costis fondly cupping the back of Kamet's neck, would think them barely-friends. And Kamet had to remind himself every day that that was what they were.

Well, maybe just friends. But they weren't married. They didn't touch like that, in a shared bed late at night. They didn't -

Kamet put his pen down and took a deep breath and looked out the window, their little common room's only window, which Costis had not protested putting Kamet's desk in front of.

Kamet wanted to. That was the crux of the problem. An entire village in Roa thought him Kay, spouse to the odd naturalist Costis, and he wanted it to be true almost more than he wanted breath in his lungs and food in his belly. He would starve again, eating caggi for a month straight, for even a slight chance that Costis' casual touches would turn into kisses.

He was sure he had desperately wanted other things before. Once, he might have yearned for freedom. When in Attolia, he had wanted not to die. He had loved before, he had suffered before. None of what he felt now was new.

But he'd never been quite so close to happiness. Marin had belonged to his master and there had never been any hope of a real future. His own life...he had learned to live it, one day at a time. He had a place here, a name he wore with pride. Roa might not know him for who he truly was, but many of the villagers regarded him with fondness. And usually, at the end of long and productive days, he took his supper across the table from a worthy man, and went to bed warm and safe.

Warm and safe, and in an entirely separate room from that worthy man. Warm and safe and untouched, unloved in the way he understood he needed. And now all of Roa thought he had that, too. The dissonance jarred him daily, like a knife dragged over stone.

He wanted so much. He would not be getting it this time. He had to get used to that.

-

A few days after Kamet gave himself a false husband, his not-husband woke him up in the middle of the night.

Kamet's first instinct was to panic, and he lashed out accordingly. Costis only caught his hands and said, "No, Kamet, no, it's okay, I only thought you'd want to see this."

"See what? Your face? I can see that better in the daylight."

"Come outside," Costis said, and something in his tone - soft, coaxing, real - swayed Kamet.

"Oh, fine. If it's nothing interesting, I'll have your guts for sausages."

"It's worth it. I promise."

Costis only had to lead him to the threshold. Kamet forgot his cold feet and how uncomfortable the cool, clammy breeze was as soon as he looked up.

Stars streaked across the sky. It looked like hundreds of them, brilliant and too quick to count. His breath misted in the air before him, and he welcomed Costis' arm at his waist, sharing his warmth.

"Next time, I'll make sure you bring a blanket," Costis said, his voice soft and amused.

"Hush. Next time you'll tell me ahead of the time, so I don't think something's happened."

"The woman at the shop told me about it," Costis said. "Roa's astrologers send out town criers ahead of the event. It's once every thirty years, she says."

By the time it came round again, Kamet would be well into his middle age, and Costis...Costis might be gone. Kamet shivered against the thought; Costis, imagining it was the cold, pulled him closer.

His body's treacherous reaction to the touch reminded him of his worries. "She told you to wake me up? Libba?"

Costis hummed noncommittally. "She mentioned it."

He didn't know. Or perhaps he'd missed the implication in Libba's voice. Or perhaps he did know, and was trying to spare Kamet the inevitable waves of embarrassment.

Kamet swallowed around everything he couldn't say and watched the stars race down to earth.

-

He went to Libba's store to thank her the next day. Somehow, she quickly became his friend. It was too easy to make friends: Kamet naturally repelled any number of people, but the ones he didn't liked to stick around.

She had no husband nor wife. She lived alone above the shop. Kamet didn't ask her if she was happy with it, because he assumed that she'd tried and failed to find a partner.

But one day, after a month of lunches together, Costis came to fetch Kamet early. He dropped a friendly hand on Kamet's shoulder (friendly, only friendly) and said, "I got lucky with one of my snares. We'll eat richly tonight. Would you like to come, ah - madame -"

"Libba." She smiled up at him. "Only Libba, thank you. But I'll stay here; Kamet was just telling you how much he was looking forward to having his husband back."

Kamet saw the moment when it registered with Costis, the flicker of confusion followed by understanding. He realized as he looked between Libba and Costis that to Libba, it looked like the sort of expression a man might get when struck again with the force of his love.

He hasn't even kissed me, Kamet wailed to himself. But he said nothing, and after a moment's odd silence Costis said, "Of course. Another time," and took Kamet's hand. They left the village like that, walking side by side, Costis' palm burning against Kamet's own.

Costis didn't drop his hand as they walked down the rarely-traveled path leading to their cottage. He only did so when they were safely inside. Kamet tried not to touch his hand, to flex his fingers, to give any sign that he was affected.

Costis looked down at him with one of those simple, dry looks, and said, "Husband, eh?"

"You're absent most of the time. Libba doesn't approve." Kamet clicked his jaw shut, narrowly avoiding biting his tongue.

"Huh," Costis said. "Well, I'm here most mornings."

If they were truly married, Kamet would pine for him on the nights he slept out of doors, during the weeks he spent roaming the countryside. They weren't, and so he said nothing.

"I really do have dinner." Costis gave him an odd look he couldn't quite interpret. "I suppose there's no walking the story back."

"No."

"They know you as Kay. It's a good addition to the cover."

Kamet didn't bother pointing out that anyone who had met them as Costis and Kamet would recognize the description of the pair of them much more easily than they'd connect Kamet of Nahuseresh to Kay the Scribe. Instead, he nodded and hurried to set the table.

-

Libba had a son, Jon, who was getting married. Kamet had met him a few times. He'd always looked at Kamet with impersonal politeness, until he'd found out Kamet was working on translations. Then, suddenly, all he had were questions.

"He's interested in that sort of thing," Libba said with a smile. "But of course, there are animals to butcher and sausage to sell." And the life of a scholar was not for anyone from the village proper, Kamet understood.

Still, he could discuss his findings with Jon, who after all had a much more comprehensive understanding of Roa's culture than Kamet himself. He spent a night every few weeks drinking with Jon at his and Costis' kitchen table, going over his translations and interpretations and listening to Jon's stories from the butcher shop. Costis didn't generally hang around, though Kamet had offered a few times. On this particular night, he'd retreated to his room early.

"I asked Mayla to marry me," Jon said quietly, gazing into his ale.

Jon had a soft man's heart. Kamet had done his best to relate, but it frequently felt like trying to converse in a language he hadn't learned. "Oh? How'd that go?"

"You know."

Kamet was about to shoot back that he didn't, actually, when he remembered that his husband was in the other room. "Nerve-wracking?"

"I thought I might die of it," Jon admitted with a smile. "But she said yes."

"Jon, that's wonderful. Congratulations."

But Jon looked away again, nervousness bunching the muscles in his shoulders. "In Roa we have a tradition, a blessing from an already-married person, often an elder. I know many elders, but it's you I...it's your relationship that gave me the courage I needed to reach out and ask her. Would you bless the ceremony?"

No! Kamet wanted to say. I'm a liar and my husband's an Attolian soldier! And he's not my husband!

He said, "Of course," and patted Jon's hand. "I'd be honored."

"Thank you, Kay," Jon said.

They had to drink to Jon's happiness then, of course. Several ales later, Jon was on his way back to the village and Kamet was going to his bed.

Or at least, he intended to, but when he turned to go down the hall, there stood Costis.

"I hope you are Costis," he said out loud. "You have the look of him, but I confess I cannot see your face."

"It's Costis," said the man in the hallway.

"An angrier version of you than I saw earlier."

Costis moved then, so that Kamet could see him directly. He did indeed look angry, and worried. "Jon doesn't respect you."

"What?"

"He comes here so often, he -" Costis shook his head. "We're not really married."

"No."

"Why did you agree?"

Kamet didn't know. He might have been able to scrounge up an answer, given time to sober up, but as it was he had no idea and Costis' irritation struck him as profoundly unfair. "Why does anyone agree to anything? He's my friend. I would hope I'd be allowed to have those."

Costis looked at him and looked at him. His jaw flexed in that stubborn way he had. He'd grown lean, ranging about Roa all day as he did, but he was still enormous, could still break Kamet's neck if he chose.

Kamet trusted him not to, implicitly. It was still a very odd feeling.

"Of course," Costis said suddenly. "I apologize." He left as quickly as he'd come, and Kamet was alone in the great room.

-

Weddings in Roa were simple legal affairs, but enormously complex socially. Jon was busy morning til night at the butcher's, and yet for several weeks before the wedding, he also sat up with Kamet into the early hours of the morning, going over food orders and appropriate salutations in invitations and triangulating the several hundred people he expected to attend the wedding.

Jon asked him for advice, and Kamet, as wise Kay the Scribe, gave what answers he could. But he couldn't help but be aware that he had no idea what was appropriate or expected, not just in a Roan context, but at all.

Of course, Jon framed his questions with Costis in mind. Things like: "I imagine he took charge with you," accompanied by a sly grin.

Kamet thought of Costis hauling him through the water; then he thought of Costis at the dock, asking if Kamet needed company. "Yes," he lied. "Now, let's discuss how you plan to accommodate thirty cousins in your mother's apartments."

The door creaked open. Costis entered, carrying a droopy bunch of plants and a wooden box that Kamet knew from past experience likely contained several live insects. "Oh," he said when he saw them at the table.

Kamet raised his eyebrows and did his best to look affectionate. "What have you brought us?"

Costis looked out the door, into the dark night, and back at them. The implication was clear, but Jon was Kamet's friend - Kamet was Jon's wedding mentor - he was not going to concede to any wrongdoing.

"Flowers," Costis said finally. "It's of little importance." He left them alone, moving through the great room to the kitchen. From there, Kamet knew, he'd go to bed. He didn't like Jon, for some reason.

The man in question was watching Kamet with a careful gaze. "Should I go?"

"No," Kamet said. "It's all right."

"I don't wish to be the cause of..." Jon's mouth went flat. "Marital strife."

Kamet had forgotten again. Shame squirmed in his stomach. "No, it's nothing. He's likely just tired. Let's go over your vows again."

Vows in Roa were a complex thing, many stanzas of recitation long. By the time Jon finished, Costis had gone to bed. Kamet sent Jon home and waited until he'd gone a ways down the road, so that there wasn't even a slight chance of anyone seeing him retire to his bedroom, very much alone.

-

The flowers, Kamet discovered the next day, were beautiful, and of the same deep red as Kamet's favorite tunic.

-

Kamet didn't know it was customary for the mothers of newlyweds in Roa to engage in fisticuffs until Libba pulled a knife from her belt.

"No! What -"

"Relax," said a drunk man Kamet didn't know. "They only fight to first blood."

It struck him as almost comically uncivilized, the way Libba twirled the knife and circled the other woman. Everyone around them cheered, as though this were a normal part of life. It couldn't possibly be! And yet there was Jon, clutching his new wife and smiling. And when Libba feinted and ducked, then nicked the other woman barely perceptibly, a shiver went through Kamet: he knew that maneuver. Costis had attempted to teach it to him.

He looked over at the man in question, but Costis was only applauding with his blandest expression on. Given the oddness of a Roan wedding, he could have been concealing any number of thoughts.

Kamet wanted to know, was the problem. The burning need to know Costis, to understand him, to hold his regard and his respect and his -

Love.

Well, what of it? It was absolutely torturous, this need, and it got worse when he drank, but then when he drank he also felt a little better about it. Perhaps, then, it was a draw. But he suspected, when Libba sat down next to him, that she knew more than she let on.

She said, "Your husband isn't particularly attentive, is he?"

"Costis isn't sure what it means to be a good guest."

"Hmmm. You've been very good to my Jon. I thank you."

Kamet nodded with as much gravity as his lack of sobriety would permit.

"We'd like to give you a gift." And before Kamet could accept or reject it, she passed him a wicker basket.

Inside the wicker basket was a kitten. Kamet blinked at it, his vision swimming. The kitten blinked back.

"Oh," he said.

"For you, and your - husband. With my eternal gratitude."

"Yes. Thank you."

She patted his knee and went to rejoin the festivities.

-

Kamet didn't know what to do with the kitten. He wasn't sober enough to figure it out, either, so he held the basket in his lap until the revelry died down enough that it wouldn't be unseemly to slip away, and then he began to walk home.

He didn't realize his mistake until Costis jogged to catch up with him, shouted, "Kay!" and threw an arm around him. It occurred to Kamet that Costis was drunk, and that they were still very visible from the town square, when Costis kissed him.

Wet. Open-mouthed. A good kiss, perhaps, but Kamet didn't feel he was really in a position to judge: he wanted, still, always.

Costis broke away with a wide and open smile that had to be faked, then took Kamet's arm and began walking with him.

Eventually they turned and disappeared among the scrub that led to their house. Then Costis said, "I'm sorry."

He could still feel the ghost of Costis' lips against his jaw. "Don't be."

"No, I am. I neglected you at the feast. Everyone said so. And then I almost didn't see you leave."

"Don't be ridiculous. This isn't -"

Real, he was going to say, foolishly and drunkenly ruining their silent truce. He was saved by the kitten mewling from its nest of blankets.

"Kamet," Costis said. He stumbled a bit; Kamet braced his shoulders to hold them both up. "Is that -"

"Libba gave it to me. As a thank-you."

Costis began laughing. It started in his belly and burst out of his chest, shaking his shoulders. He looked silly and rustic like that, as though he'd never pondered a complex question or had a single worry in the world.

Kamet held onto the basket tighter so he wouldn't reach out. He smiled so he wouldn't try to kiss Costis again.

"Let's go home," Costis said, and slung his arm around Kamet's shoulder.

Kamet didn't lean into the touch. He didn't close his eyes and savor the weight of Costis' arm or the warmth of his body. He put one foot forward, then the other, and did his best to ignore the desire clamoring in his veins.

-

He named the kitten Gen. It was a little treasonous, but only a little: Kamet thought Attolis Eugenides would have a chuckle, in private. Costis blushed bright red when Kamet told him, too, which made the name very worthy in his eyes.

Costis left a few days after the wedding, on another lonely surveying trip. In the first four hours after he left - alone, saying goodbye to Kamet over his shoulder as though he couldn't quite look him in the eye yet - the kitten tipped Kamet's ink over, defecated on one of his transcriptions, and chewed his slipper to bits.

"Eddisian gods and Attolian kings have no domain in this house," Kamet told the kitten, "so you might as well stop acting like your namesake. Either of them."

The kitten blinked at him with enormous green eyes, then yawned and clawed at Kamet's toe. Kamet didn't give it the satisfaction of yelping.

-

He drank the ale not because he missed Costis, but because he felt very confident that Costis wouldn't be back for another few days, and he wished to disperse his thoughts with alcohol. Gen the kitten helped, running around his ankles and jumping on him when he tripped and fell.

"It's not fair," he told the sky. He'd meant to go for a walk, but one thing had turned into another, and he'd wound up rolling in the grass instead. He still had his bottle of ale, though, and the neck was too narrow for Roa's flying insects to invade. "I don't even like him."

Only of course that was a lie. The sun was shining, the clouds were white and wispy, and Kamet missed Costis every moment he wasn't thunking around the house.

It was just so - lowering, Kamet thought, taking another drink. Not just wanting Costis back, but needing him to continue the fiction of being Kamet's husband. He ought to have just come clean, but every time he thought of Costis, something in him went very, very stupid.

It was impossible to repudiate a lie that he wanted to be true so achingly badly.

He kept drinking. He eventually discarded the bottle in favor of wandering down to the pond on the edge of his and Costis' property. It was truly theirs, by Roan standards; the lifetime deed had been purchased from the crown with Costis' King's money, and they would hold it until they both passed. Kamet had seen marriages made of more easily dissolved obligations. Eugenides intended them to stay abroad indefinitely, the better to keep them safe.

Kamet wanted badly to be safe. But he also wanted Costis to want him. He wanted touch, and love, and sex. He wanted everything, and he stood to get very little of it, and for the first time in quite awhile, that drove him absolutely insane.

"Kamet!" said a voice in the distance. It was just the ale, so Kamet ignored it.

"Kamet, it's cold! What are you doing?"

That sounded much less like his drunken imagination. He turned to look, and saw Costis, beautiful Costis, running towards him. Shock paralyzed him, and he fell into the water.

"Kamet!" Costis yelled - or maybe that time it was only the ale. He flailed for a bit, but Costis had taught him how to swim, and instinct took over. He paddled to the surface, just in time for a large hand to grab him by the arm and haul him back to the dock.

"Kamet, you idiot," Costis said. It was really Costis, big and warm and present. Kamet pushed his hands under Costis' shirt, shivering. Twilight had fallen; he didn't know where the time had gone.

"Sorry," he managed to say.

Costis didn't recoil, but he did tense up. "You're drunk."

"Only a bit." More than a bit.

"What happened - no. Later. Come with me."

That was how Kamet found himself bundled back up the hill and down the road, into the house that he and Costis shared, which wasn't theirs at all yet would belong to their children should they have any. He might have said some part of that to Costis, because Costis said, "I'm not the one holding that process up," as he stripped Kamet of his wet clothes and tucked him into bed.

His bed was large and warm. It would fit two people. He looked up at Costis and imagined it.

Costis noticed. Kamet rather thought it would be impossible not to notice. He knew he wasn't being subtle. Instead of pulling away right away, though, Costis said, "It would be best if you focused on getting warm again."

"Another person helps with that."

"Damn you," Costis said amiably. "Very well." And he climbed into bed with Kamet, wrapping strong arms around him, pulling him close with a willingness that could only come from feeling unbothered over the whole production.

Kamet was full of hatred and ale and desire for Costis to press ever closer. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, and said, "I'm warm now. Thank you."

"You've got goosebumps all over." Costis demonstrated this truth by rubbing his hands up and down Kamet's arms.

Even with Kamet's new bulk, he felt dwarfed in that moment, and foolish and pathetic besides. "Get off me," he said. "I'm done! I'll warm up." He rolled over, onto his belly, and lay flat in mutinous silence.

"Right, then. Be careful, you need to sober up." As easily as he'd gotten into bed, Costis rolled out, patting Kamet's shoulder as one might a comrade who'd just vomited in the pigpen. Kamet's bed might as well be a pigpen: he was getting river mud in it.

Some devilish impulse grabbed him. He said, "Good night."

For just a moment there was a pause, and Kamet thought he might be about to be kissed, or thumped. Instead, Costis left in silence.

-

They didn't discuss that night. Kamet found, to his surprise, that he was very good at not discussing things, even absent the complex interplay of potential punishment and danger that being a slave had presented. Costis might have been thinking about it, but then again he might not have; his comportment gave little away. He remained stubborn and warmly concerned for Kamet and stupidly devoted to his King. It had not occurred to Kamet before meeting him that a simple and honest person could be such a cipher.

They'd been not-talking-about-it for almost a full month when the summons came. It was on unassuming - though unusually thick, for Roa - parchment; its language was uncompromising. In their status as vassals to the King and Queen of Attolia, Kamet and Costis were called back for an indeterminate period of time, to serve as retainers at the pleasure of His Majesty. His Majesty had procured a joint suite for them, to respect their new status as -

"A married couple," Costis said dully.

"It's not that bad," Kamet said. "Is it?"

Costis shook his head. "My King likes to joke."

He did, and Kamet had been given the impression that Costis assumed Eugenides knew everything. He himself had little reason to think otherwise. "You think he's joking? He knows it's fake?"

"How fake can it be?" Costis said miserably.

Kamet tried to speak. An odd croak came out.

"Not that." Costis didn't so much as look at him. "But everything else. The house, the lives, the...faith, the cooking! We are closer than many married people who share a bed in truth."

Kamet had known that. He truly had. But perhaps he hadn't let himself really think about what it meant.

There was nothing to be done about it; if the Attolian crown needed them, they would go. Kamet felt no particular attachment to the Queen, but he knew what he owed the King - and he felt it, too, despite his normal efforts to ignore what might be in his heart.

So they went back to Attolia. Kamet barely had time to say goodbye to Libba; when they looked for Gen the kitten they didn't find him, so they left food by the back door and packed without him. They had two horses this time, and their pace, while not sedate, certainly wasn't the terrible rush of fleeing the Mede Empire. They ran into no bandits and didn't nearly die at all.

Kamet somehow still felt exhausted when they reached the palace. They were ushered in by a minor member of the King's Guard that neither of them knew, led to a small set of rooms that was still nicer than any Kamet thought he had a right to. And then they were left alone, staring at each other over a bed furnished with linen sheets.

"This does feel like a joke," Kamet finally said. His throat was scratchy from traveling. "I know you trust your king, but..."

"No but," Costis said. He looked grimly unsurprised. "I do agree, though."

"How can you?"

"I trust him." Costis shrugged. "That doesn't mean he makes it easy."

They were not summoned that day. Kamet wrote his usual report, sending it off with a page instead of putting it in the post. He and Costis spent the night hardly sleeping, lying carefully separate from one another.

When Kamet woke, morning light streamed in from the high windows. Costis was nowhere to be found, and the Queen of Attolia stood by the washbasin, watching him.

"Augh," he said. "Your Majesty, I -" He tried to roll out of bed and found himself constricted by the sheets. "I apologize."

"There's no need to do so," the Queen said. "I understand that my husband summoned you both back with a paucity of information as to why."

Kamet decided not saying anything was the route least likely to end in treason.

"I, then, should apologize," the Queen said. "I'm the one who told him you should come back: It did not occur to me to specify how."

Of course not. Kamet nodded. "We're both at your service, my Queen."

"Naturally. You will dine with me at luncheon today, both of you. I'll explain things then." She swept out, two attendants trailing her, before Kamet could disentangle himself enough to genuflect appropriately.

Lunch with the Queen was a calm affair, attended by servants Kamet didn't recognize. He had not accustomed himself to being waited on; he'd had little experience with it before moving to Roa, where he and Costis led solitary lives.

He nearly jumped through the imperfectly paneled ceiling when a young cat, not a kitten but clearly still young, landed on the table, seemingly from nowhere. "Gods - what - who -"

"Hello," an apparently unruffled Costis told the cat.

The cat looked at Kamet and Kamet looked back at it. Having a cat stare at him was less humiliating than meeting the Queen's gaze, given the circumstances.

"This is Meow," the Queen said. Kamet was still blinking with the ridiculousness of it when she added, "He guards the table."

Kamet had no idea what to say, but fortunately he didn't need to think of anything. Costis was there, and he laughed, as though the Queen had told a very clever joke. Or, Kamet supposed, as though she might kill him for not laughing.

She smiled at Costis. Kamet sympathized. It seemed to him just then that the Queen was not the only beautiful thing Attolia had to offer.

"I apologize for requiring you to come here on such short notice," the Queen said.

"Does the King apologize?"

"Are you feeling suicidal?" Kamet hissed. It was a mark of his discomfiture that he'd thought it wise to do so. The Queen heard, of course, and sent him an irony-laden look.

"The King has great faith in you," the Queen told Costis. She spoke with odd gentleness; Costis' shoulders slumped in response.

"My Queen, what am I to do?" he said.

"There's a conspiracy afoot, I'm afraid," the Queen said. "To kill my husband's cousin, who is Eddis."

Kamet's mouth felt very dry.

"I suggested we send any number of people, but she is the King's dearest cousin and he places his faith entirely in you both."

Costis made a noise that Kamet could only interpret as an agonized whine.

"He also wishes you every happiness," the Queen said.

"Of course he does," Kamet said. "Your Majesty - my Queen - with all respect and humility -"

"He's about to be belligerent," Costis said.

"This is insane," Kamet said firmly. "No, don't look at me like that, Costis, it's the truth. We must all be candid right now. I am a passable spy and Costis is a very skilled soldier. A pair of useful tools is not enough to stop a royal assassin, as I'm sure you know."

"Forgive him, my Queen," Costis said. "He's touched in the head. The, uh, dust, in the books, you see, it's made him slow. And stupid."

Kamet sent Costis a death glare, which he dutifully ignored. When Kamet looked back to the Queen, he was shocked to see her smiling.

"Others will go, of course," the Queen said. "And my cousin has her own security. But the King requested both of you."

"Where is he, then?" Kamet said. "Your Majesty."

"Careful, Kamet," said the shadow behind the Queen's right shoulder. "I can't stop her if she decides you want discipline, you know."

The Queen didn't turn in her seat, but she did raise unimpressed eyebrows. "Everyone in this room is perfectly aware that you could."

"My Queen," Costis said miserably.

"Stop torturing poor Costis." Eugenides, King of Kings, sat down at the final seat at the Queen's table, and eyed Meow with transparent distrust. "He doesn't like it when things aren't official."

"I have a decree to give you both," the Queen said in a tone she must have imagined to be comforting. "You'll travel with a retinue, as befits Kamet Kingnamer and his consort."

"Consort?!" Costis squawked.

Eugenides laughed, a spark of mirth that could have laid waste to an entire city. "We could change it, if you like. Bodyman? Servant? ...bed slave?"

"That's not funny," Costis said. Kamet thought the reproach was meant to soothe Costis' injured pride, until his quick worried glance at Kamet.

"I think it's hilarious," Kamet snapped.

"I'm laughing," said Eugenides. He wasn't even smiling. "We'll send you off with great fanfare. It's meant to be a showy sort of thing; I'm afraid we'll need to convince as many people as possible that you're both very useless."

"A carriage?" Kamet said.

"Across the country, yes. A litter to the city gates, all the better to showcase your wealth."

Wait. Kamet narrowed his eyes. "Who am I that the King should trouble himself so?"

Eugenides' smirk told him everything he needed to know. "You're Kamet Kingnamer, as my lovely wife said."

A favorite of a fool King, who spent his coin on his whims and not his own protection. So, so, so. "I'm honored," Kamet said flatly.

Eugenides kissed his hand and patted Costis' shoulder. He kissed his wife, too, and Kamet looked away from that, envy twisting his stomach until it threatened to rebel.

After that, everything moved very quickly. Kamet scarcely had time to reestablish discomfort in the Attolian palace before he was being bundled into the litter, more luggage than he'd ever owned in his life weighing down pack mules behind them. The carriage they were to take, the King had told them, was gilt and walnut and all the fine things of the world. "Try not to crash it, unless you have to," he told Costis. "Or if it would make a very, very good story."

"My King," Costis said, still with that perfect misery. But he stood proud, shoulders squared. He'd missed this, Kamet thought, in all its absurdity and danger.

Well, of course he missed it. He'd left his family's farm for a reason. Kamet knew that perfectly well - had always known it. If he'd briefly begun to forget, it was only evidence that he was a fool.

Costis settled across from him in the litter, shifting uncomfortably. It would take them the better part of a day to cross the city, and the curtains in the litter would stay open that whole time. "Uncomfortable, being carried on a man's back," Costis said.

"Six men," Kamet said. "I'd suppose it's more uncomfortable for them."

Costis' eyes slid away from his. "Yes, of course."

He seemed absorbed by the scenery of his capital city, which meant Kamet had all the time the gods could grant to watch him. He'd nicked himself shaving this morning; he was more careful about such things in the palace. The tan he'd gotten working the fields was already fading. He'd gotten a deep tan that Kamet hadn't noticed in Roa; now that he wore Attolian clothes, Kamet's old memories made the discrepancy obvious.

Everything had changed, even though very little had changed. They were vassals of Attolis and they were definitely not married, yet want burned in Kamet's heart with the same unbearable surety that fear had once claimed.

"Eddis is nice," Costis said. "I mean the people. I've - I think it will be nice?"

"Well, we're going there to stop something dreadful," Kamet said. "But perhaps there will be time to sample some restaurants."

"Or libraries," Costis said, smiling bright and true right at Kamet.

Kamet did his best not to stiffen. "Taking books home might be difficult."

Costis didn't respond. He only looked away again, and Kamet let out a slow breath to keep from saying something foolish.

When Kamet heard a meow he assumed it came from outside. Then his pack, which he had kept with him the entire time they'd been in Attolia, opened. Out crawled Gen the kitten, looking rumpled and annoyed.

"Gods," Costis said. "How long's he been in there?"

"He must have found a way out and in." Kamet lifted him, looking him in the eyes. Two months had been more than enough time for them to become accustomed to one another, but... "Why did you follow us here, you little idiot?"

Gen looked at him with an expression altogether too like one of his namesakes, then daintily licked a paw.

"Ha," Costis said. "Like father, like son."

"The King's a bit more dignified these days, it would seem."

"I didn't mean the King," Costis said, and gave him a very pointed look.

Oh. Kamet looked down, trying not to flush, or to do something even more dangerous, something that might let Costis see him truly.

The trip to Eddis was unnecessarily long and complicated. "That's how he wants it," Costis said. 'He' presumably was the King, but Kamet didn't understand how the many stops could possibly benefit their ruse. All told, it took nearly a month before they made it to the Eddisian capital, or fort, or -

"What is this?" Kamet said, feeling at a loss as he stared at the forbidding stone walls of the Queen of Eddis' home.

"Welcome to Eddis," Costis said with rather cruel cheer.

Kamet had read about Eddis, of course. He suspected he knew more of the country's history than half its nobles. But he had not been prepared for this many rocks. "Are we meant to just walk up to the gate?"

For some reason, that made Costis laugh. "I would not enjoy our reception were we to do so," he said. They sent a rider ahead.

Later, at a banquet to honor the King's favorites deciding to visit Eddis, Kamet came to a rather horrifying realization: Attolia was the cultured, refined country in this ridiculous little bit of the world.

"Oh, Gods," he said, slumping to the table, filled with despair and perhaps a bit too much wine.

Costis laughed and clapped him on the back. "Cheer up, Kamet. They'll think I'm a bad husband."

No one could possibly think that. Even as Kamet picked at his stringy chicken, Costis waved someone over to refill Kamet's goblet, leaning into him and lifting the glass to his lips. He was so touchy, as though he'd been ordered to become a good liar overnight; in truth, Kamet knew this was simple camaraderie, clumsily exaggerated because it was the only way Costis knew how to act. "If we were really good liars, I'd kiss you," Kamet informed him.

Costis buried his face in his mead and the tips of his ears turned red. Well, all right. It wasn't like Kamet had planned on doing anything, not really. Costis ought to stop touching Kamet, lest Kamet return the favor: he'd flinch and give them both away.

The Queen didn't greet them; Kamet supposed she meant to imply intrigue, disapproval of her cousin's capricious favoritism perhaps. They were, however, assigned a page to lead them back to their rooms. Costis leaned on Kamet the whole way, singing an Attolian drinking song in Kamet's ear.

It didn't make Kamet blush or ache or tremble. Costis had no ear for tune and slurred half the lyrics. Of course Kamet was unaffected. Still, when they got to their suite, Kamet pushed him away even as the door closed. "Here we are. You can take the floor. Drunk as you are, you'll hardly notice."

"You're drunk too," Costis said, and spun in a circle as he pulled his breeches off.

"I'm not." Kamet locked his knees so he wouldn't sway. Then he swayed anyway, wary of unconsciousness. "You drank twice as much."

Costis' smile was lazy and pleased and felt like lightning applied directly to Kamet's skin. "I'm bigger than you, my friend."

Friend, friend, friend. "Careful. There could be spies."

"We're doomed then anyway." Costis plopped down on the bed. He sprawled, Kamet noted with distaste. "You don't treat me like a husband."

It was the mead making it sound like he cared, like it saddened him. Kamet huffed and pushed Costis over to the side, fussing with the bed even as he disrobed. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm sorry," Costis said, but he didn't sound as though he'd ever had a regret in his life. He looked at Kamet with enormous guileless eyes.

Kamet cursed in every language he could remember, then rolled away, presenting Costis with his back. "Go to sleep."

Costis sighed gustily. Kamet fell asleep with Costis twitching a handbreadth away.

-

Eddis did not meet them the next day. Instead, she sent a cousin.

"Oh ho," the cousin said. "Costis, I've heard of you. Keeping my little bastard cousin in line?"

"I can't answer if you're talking about the King, my Lord." But Costis was smiling.

Kamet eyed the soldier, Linaus. He was tall like Costis, burly, not as attractive in the face - but who knew what soldiers considered attractive? Perhaps the broken tooth and bulbous nose would set the Queen's Guard aflame in Attolia. "He's not your lord," Kamet told Costis after concluding his examination. "There's no need for such language."

"You know, Gen told me you weren't a diplomat." Linaus grinned at Kamet as though he'd told a grand joke.

"Technically speaking, I am, or I wouldn't be here."

"Maybe he's the diplomat." Linaus nodded to Costis, who frowned. "You're only his husband."

Costis said hotly, "Kamet isn't only -"

"Indeed," Kamet said, voice as icy as he could make it. "We share a cottage in Roa, you know. He's very loyal. He chops me wood and brings me fish."

"You sound like a wonderful wife."

"I don't want to thump you," Costis said, "but I will, and then everyone will be upset. Please don't make me."

Linaus looked at Costis with surprise and new respect. Soldiers, Kamet though with blessedly familiar disgust.

"Fine," he said. "Let's talk assassination, then."

"I had thought Eddis was popular," Kamet said.

"She is, but who isn't vulnerable these days?" Linaus sounded as though he were remarking on the weather, rather than the likelihood that Attolia and Eddis both would soon be swallowed into vassalage. "And she's having Antiope trained, which is causing a bit of a stir. Hasn't been a female Thief in long enough for folks to forget it's perfectly ordinary."

"Antiope?" Costis said. "Another cousin?"

"Not one of Gen's favorites. Younger, for one, and quite fond of stealing the spotlight."

A perfect Thief, then, if Kamet's understanding of Eddisian lore was accurate. Though it couldn't possibly all be true, the ridiculous bits about the God of Thieves intervening, the tradition seemed real enough. "You think someone might assassinate her for pushing a female Thief?"

Linaus shrugged. "No one can force these things, not here. You must understand, if our gods didn't want Antiope, she'd have failed already. Hopped a roof and gone splat or some-such."

"You sound sanguine about it," Kamet said.

"She's very good," Linaus said. "And no Eddisian, anyway, will try to kill over a Thief. Not like that. But over Eddis...eh, maybe. Who knows?"

"I see why the Queen sent you," Kamet said. "You're very helpful."

Linaus laughed. "I like him," he told Costis. "Well done."

Costis turned bright red and didn't answer. Kamet was about to deliver a setdown, was developing something sure to be devastating, when Gen the kitten hopped up on the table and meowed imperiously.

Several moments of fussing ensued, during which Kamet was forced to watch Costis smile at Gen as though the kitten had solved the whole problem of assassination for them. He hadn't looked at Kamet that way, ever, and it was ridiculous to feel hurt or even annoyed, he was the basest of fools and he half wished an Eddisian god would see it fit to strike him dead right there, but -

"Cheer up," Linaus said, clapping him on the back just a bit too hard. "I'm sure he'll give you children eventually."

Kamet buried the ache, pictured sand extinguishing a bonfire, the wind chilling a hot cup of tea. "Be that as it may. We need more information. The King entrusted us with ending this, and I have no idea how we're going to do that if our only understanding of who might be behind all this is 'eh'."

"Well, I'm not a spymaster," Linaus said. "And it's not like the Queen can start asking around."

An idea, a very terrible one, sparked in Kamet's mind. "No, she can't," he said. "But -"

"Kamet." Costis' expression fell. "No, don't."

"It makes sense. You're loyal, everyone knows you are. But who am I? No one -"

"Beloved of the King!"

"A King no one respects."

"Not here," Linaus said hotly. "Listen you, Gen's a bastard but he's our bastard, you hear me?"

"But I am no one, don't you see? I could be as disloyal as I pleased here, and no one would know or care. Neither my former masters nor the King, don't argue, it's true, would find me, if I ran. I could go live among the goats for all anyone here knows!"

"You could never live among the goats," Costis said with the confidence of the very correct.

"Nevertheless. I'm the person who can ask questions, and no one will assume they know where my loyalty lies. I was a slave. I was loyal to the Mede. You know that's the reason he sent me here."

He addressed the last to Costis, looking him right in the eye. And that cost him, it truly did; he felt as though he'd laid himself bare, and it was more distasteful than he could have previously imagined. But it was also true, truer than the entire cursed story of their false marriage, and he knew Costis knew that.

"I can do this," he said. He didn't add, please let me do this. He would never beg. But he thought Costis knew, or suspected, what else he might say.

He had forgotten this, though: the way Costis' face went flat and closed, the way his straightforward honesty could become a stubborn distant wall. "Well," he said. "All right then. He's right."

Linaus groaned. "You Attolians."

"Excuse me," Kamet said.

"You're excused, Kamet Kingnamer. Gods." Linaus stood. "I suppose you'll have to explain this all to Her Majesty, then. Good fucking luck." He was still snickering as he left.

As soon as they were alone again, Costis turned to Kamet. "I could smack you right now."

"Not very marital of you," Kamet sniped.

"Is it not? Discipline -"

"You wouldn't dare."

Costis set his jaw. "No, I wouldn't."

How did he do it? Kamet thought wildly. He was being nothing but honest, yet it sent a shiver down Kamet's spine. He wouldn't do any discipline, didn't have it in him, but he looked like he might do something terrible just because he disagreed. Just to keep Kamet safe. It was a responsibility Kamet had never wanted, a terrible burden he'd never anticipated. It made him want to scream.

It made him want, just want, and that alone was dangerous.

"You'll be with me. I'll be careful."

Costis looked unimpressed. "I've heard that lie before."

"It's true. I will."

Gen the kitten bit his finger. Kamet scowled down at him. "I will," he said again.

He almost managed to imbue it with Costis-like meaning; it almost sounded like a true promise.

-

It was almost a disappointment to learn how much Eddisians loved their Queen. It meant they would have fewer obvious avenues of inquiry, and it might mean they would be in Eddis even longer than originally planned. Kamet felt fairly certain he couldn't bear the latter. It wasn't just that they were expected to share a room; no, the honored guests of Attolis got a big, comfortable bed, and plenty of room in which to avoid one another. But Eddis lacked modern conveniences, including modern plumbing, which meant -

"Ahhh, that's so good. Mmmmmm. Oooooh, they're mean with their swords -"

Costis was bathing every day. In front of Kamet, as though he had no shame at all.

And, true, he had nothing to be ashamed of. Strictly speaking, Kamet had known that beforehand. But intellectual awareness and emotional awareness had never collided so strongly as they did when Costis stood in his tub, water sluicing from his muscled body, and smiled at Kamet as though Kamet had just discovered a new strategy for hanging the sun.

Costis was well-formed, and many villagers hungered for his strength and admired his beauty. Costis was also Kamet's friend, his truest friend, and someone who Kamet knew would do almost anything if he asked it. Intellectual, emotional.

Wretched, both of them. Kamet would like to rip his own self-knowledge out and set it aflame. His hands twisted on empty air and his heart pounded uselessly and he hated himself, and Costis, and this place, and Eugenides the King, and Eugenides the kitten as well just for good measure.

But he always smiled back. Costis would be sad if he did not.

The Queen met with them on their third day in Eddis. "I have been reliably informed that Gen hasn't told you who the culprit might be," she said.

Kamet stared at her. She didn't look angry. A bit homely - a thought he regretted immediately, for she also looked kind. "No," he said. "He didn't."

"I don't suppose you've gotten villainous letters lately," Costis said. "Or...attacked in a garden? Where you can see the person directing the attack?"

Kamet didn't know why that made the Eddisian Queen half-smile. It was probably something beneath Kamet's attention, really. "No," the Queen said. "I have not."

"Hmm," Costis said. He took a bite of his apple. Appalling manners.

"We'll keep asking questions," Kamet said. "I trust that our King sent us here because he thought we could be useful."

"Yes." The Queen looked between them. "Congratulations. He tells me it's a recent union."

"Oh, yes," Kamet said. "We're newlyweds, and very much in love."

Costis patted his shoulder. Kamet supposed that was what he imagined men in love did.

She didn't look between them again. She took Kamet's hands and said warmly, "Love is a wonderful thing. And now I'm afraid I must leave you to your investigations," and then took her leave of them.

"You didn't have to say that," Costis said, scarcely a breath after the door had closed behind her.

"I did," Kamet said, "or you would have tried to lie, and made it obvious that the whole thing was a farce."

Some cloud passed over Costis' face, of an origin and provenance that Kamet wouldn't pretend to understand. "I can lie, you know. I've done it to you, even."

"Humph." Not for a long time, surely. Kamet could see right through him; he was very confident of that. "Well, anyway. I solved it, so it's fine."

"Uh-huh." Costis looked both annoyed and unimpressed, which of course pricked Kamet's pride and made him turn away. "You might as well go see if any of the guard will talk."

"And you'll stay in here?"

"Studying," Kamet said. "I've got genealogies, bills of work, tax records. I can do this. You can talk to soldiers. We're neither of us likely to switch duties." He waited then, letting the silence push Costis away so that he didn't have to make himself actually say it.

Costis looked at him. He looked back at their shared bed. He looked at Kamet again, and Kamet knew he wasn't happy, could see he felt put out by it all.

Well, too bad. Kamet felt put out by Costis grabbing him in the night for an ill-advised cuddle, too.

The silence after Costis left wasn't a restless or oppressive silence. It was good, clean silence, conducive to study. Kamet got a lot done and he hardly thought about Costis at all.

He only jumped at noises down the hall a few times. It was only to be expected; if Costis returned, Kamet would need to be able to tell him what he'd learned.

-

"I just think you two are cute," said another one of the King of Attolia's apparently interminable line of cousins.

This one was a girl, but you'd hardly know it to look at her. She was a minor cousin - she took great pride in informing Kamet of this - and she was covered in dirt most of the time. She had short-shorn hair and a restless attitude.

She was different from the King in every possible way, except possibly her fascination with annoying Kamet. "Yes," he said. "I'm very in love. It's exceedingly annoying, to me, obviously, and apparently to you. So I have to ask you again: why are you here?"

The girl smiled, slow and sly and the opposite of what Kamet had been trying to encourage.

"Are you the assassin?" he said, hoping for offense. The dungeons of this godsforsaken place couldn't possibly be that much worse than the rest of the drafty stone pile.

"That'd be a neat trick," the girl said.

"That's not a no."

"I suppose the assassin will deny it, when you catch him. If you catch him."

Kamet paused in his angry paper shuffling. This cousin watched him with birdlike eyes, guileless, not at all studied and careful like the King's. And yet her words were delicately provoking, carefully calibrated to frustrate Kamet.

It all clicked into place in his mind. "Get out!" he shouted. "Out, Thief of Eddis, out, out, out!"

Her laughter haunted him the rest of the afternoon.

-

Kamet had vainly hoped to uncover a conspiracy of some kind. Perhaps 'hope' was a strong term; the Queen of Eddis, though very dull and stolid in a way that seemed calculated to imitate her country's character, was not the sort Kamet would wish death upon. And there was the matter of the King to think of, too. Kamet didn't think his friend the kitchen boy would have them put to death for failing to save his cousin. He felt considerably less confident about Attolis Eugenides.

So he went through papers, and he questioned people, though his attempts at social overture in Eddis tended to end with the person he'd been trying to question laughing at him and saying something like, "They weren't wrong about you." What that was even supposed to mean was a mystery Kamet preferred not to explore.

Costis had been trying to gather secrets from the military. Kamet supposed he'd be bad at it, straightforward as he was. But he came back on the fourth day with their only real lead: "One in every four or five soldiers I talk with has been approached for a mercenary job of late."

"And?"

Costis gave him that bland, I-won't-rub-this-in look. "Mercenary work is illegal in Eddis. They all refused, and their job offers evaporated. Gone, just like that, with no trace."

Meaning: no record of stays at an inn. No notes of them passing into or out of the city. Ghosts in Eddis were nearly as expensive as in Attolia, and someone had been working hard to ensure their agent stayed mysterious.

"We can work with this," Kamet said. "Though - I don't suppose people would believe it, if you put out word about your availability."

"Actually, they might. What?" Costis added when Kamet squawked in indignation.

"Who would be so foolish as to think -"

"Don't forget, plenty of the people here think all Attolians are liars who'd cut off a man's hand as soon as look at him." Costis raised his right hand and wiggled the fingers with wry solemnity. "And word of the King's favorite travels slowly in these parts."

It was hard for both wits and rumor to penetrate all the rock, Kamet didn't say. "It will be dangerous for you."

"Eh," Costis said.

Something about the nonchalance of his response piqued Kamet's irritation. "Danger for you means trouble for me! If you can't have a care for yourself, think of how difficult it will be for me to be a widow and a fugitive slave."

Costis looked at him. It was a simple look; from Costis, it couldn't be anything else. But Kamet set his jaw and glared, and -

Something changed. Kamet's first thought was that the air became charged the way he imagined it might in the presence of a god; then he realized how dangerous such a thought was and hastily reminded himself that Costis was only a very foolhardy soldier.

It didn't help. Costis was staring at him, surely in bafflement and anger, but to Kamet's fevered mind it looked, and felt, like lust. Or need. Not love, but something close enough that Kamet might be able to lie to himself when he was once again alone.

He almost feared to breathe.

Slowly, very slowly, Costis said, "A soldier's job is dangerous to the body. I'll be as careful as I can."

He sounded as though every word had been wrenched out of him. Kamet wanted to reach out and didn't dare. He reminded himself instead, as savagely and cruelly as he could bear, that Costis had never wanted a quiet life in Roa as Kay the scholar's sometimes-roaming husband. Costis had chosen a soldier's life, chosen it. He was probably positively mad for danger right now, he'd been away from it for so long.

Costis didn't look mad for danger, however. He mostly just looked mad at Kamet.

"Thank you," Kamet said finally. He fought to keep his expression from twisting with distaste, but Costis saw anyway. He didn't laugh; he turned away, and they spent the rest of the evening in silence.

-

He did try not to complain. Eddis, yes, struck Kamet as a very dull country, so bafflingly blunt that it struck him as odd that Attolis Eugenides could have come from it; but still, hunting down a shy and dull assassin was more exciting than sitting in Roa, translating old documents. Except that Kamet was skilled at translating, and apparently very bad at assassin hunting. Costis had slightly more skill, it seemed: he had endeared himself to the soldiers, who appreciated a handsome, burly man even if he was an Attolian. But they still only had very vague leads and no solid evidence to pass on to the Queen.

Kamet grew impatient. Between worrying about Costis and suffering the attentions of the Queen's many cousins, his days were full, and yet he was ever-conscious of the fact that they had a job to do and were failing badly at it.

Then the Queen announced the bacchanal, and Kamet's impatience turned into panic.

"We cannot attend it," he told Costis as soon as they were alone.

Costis paused midway through unbuckling his sword and blinked, once, twice, very slowly, as though he thought Kamet might not notice his irritation otherwise. "The bacchanal?"

"Precisely. With everyone being drunk, there may very well be an attempt on the Queen's life. We must stay apart from the festivities and observe - it's an enormous risk. She ought to cancel it. But if she won't, we cannot be participants."

Costis cleared his throat. He probably thought he sounded delicate or subtle; Kamet thought he sounded like a goat with indigestion. "The bacchanal is the greatest religious festival of the year, hereabouts, or so I understand."

Kamet waved a hand. "Let them worship their gods."

"Kamet. We must respect -"

"You must respect, I'm sure, as a vassal of His Majesty." Kamet could feel his cheeks redden - was not the friendship of the King also a kind of vassalage? - but he wouldn't back down. "I, on the other hand, am free to exercise my judgment. We must stay clear of this festival, as much as possible."

"Hmm, well, it's a pity we're slated to appear as the Eros Pair, then."

For a moment Kamet's vision ceased to exist. He didn't have his glasses, and so Costis' face had already been a bit indistinct, but for a single breath it disappeared entirely, replaced by -

Anger had no color. Kamet lost his memory of that moment entirely, as time passed.

"No."

The voice came from him, but it was not of him. The man who spoke it was angry, passionate, frightened. Kamet only cared for the practicalities, but -

"We can't." Still raspy, still wrong. "Costis. Who did - no. We will not. We're not even -"

"Eddisian?" Costis said. For some reason he sounded as desperate as Kamet felt, despite his ridiculous, delusional statement. "But we're vassals of His Majesty, as you said."

"I said you were!"

"You're my husband, you dolt!" As soon as the words left his mouth, Costis' cheeks bloomed bright red. "Or - that's what they think."

"Ah, so of course since our lie is convincing, we're to be at the center of the festival. Is that what you want? I'd have thought you'd tire of notoriety."

Costis looked away. For a moment Kamet felt the thrill of victory, and the relief of knowing Costis would be safe. But of course it was to be short-lived.

"It is our obligation," Costis said stiffly. "And it is my honor to continue to serve a close ally of my Queen. I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable: perhaps in the future we can manufacture another set of identities. But we must attend, as a wedded couple, in love and as one. If you cannot - pretend - then please tell me, and we can arrange for you to flee instead."

But you'll stay, Kamet wanted to say. You'll stay, and you'll do something stupid, because you're honest and good-hearted, and then you'll be dead, and what will I do? Who will bring me disgusting specimens and smile at me over dinner?

He couldn't say a single bit of that, or Costis would know the horrible, foolish secrets Kamet had been so careful to keep from him. The Mede Empire was leagues away from the rocky mountains of Eddis, yet Kamet felt it close by as he tucked his own feelings away, smoothing his expression and gentling his tone.

"Of course we can go," he said. The words were true in a technical sense; his posture, his tone, his expression, all were a lie. But Costis did not know that: Kamet watched his shoulders relax. Costis wanted Kamet to be happy, and Kamet knew - had been trained to know - how to satisfy that want. "They can throw straw at us and set us on goats, or whatever it is Eddisians do. We will play the part. But we must be careful."

"Of course." Costis frowned a little. "I'd never put you in danger."

Kamet looked at him. He'd never managed to unbuckle his belt; he stood there half-undressed, confused, irritated, and beautiful.

"I know," Kamet finally said. "We'll find the assassin. Never fear. Goodnight."

He still wore his trousers and he hadn't done any of his usual ablutions. Still, he rolled over and presented Costis with his back, and he fell asleep in short order.

-

He wasn't sure why he'd been so convinced goats would be involved. Or why he hadn't inquired about the costume requirements ahead of time.

Too late now, standing on a dais as he was, shoulder-to-shoulder with Costis. Well: shoulder to side, really, for they were both barefoot, and Costis was enormous. Enormous, oiled, and nearly naked, same as Kamet.

"I can't believe this."

"You said that already." Costis sounded almost peaceful, which Kamet chose to blame on the sun, or perhaps the oil. They'd been told it was only scented body oil, but who knew what that might mean for an Eddisian? Maybe they were soaking in aphrodisiacs, or depressants, or...

"Stop panicking," Costis said, nudging him with an elbow.

"I absolutely will not," Kamet hissed.

A horn sounded. They'd been told the meaning of that earlier, but at the moment, Kamet couldn't remember what it meant. Perhaps they were finally to be freed from the dais, or they had to drink another glass of wine - there had been so much wine already, and it was only early afternoon - or -

"Kiss me," Costis said.

"What! I will not."

"We promised."

They had. And that was what the horn meant, Kamet remembered with terrible suddenness. And of course - on top of all of that -

So very many people were watching.

"Kamet," Costis said. He turned towards Kamet, his eyes huge and full of blessedly simple calm. "It's okay."

"It is not."

"Kamet," Costis said again, but it didn't sound like he meant to get Kamet's attention. He was saying something else with the name, something that Kamet thought might be important - but he was drunk and it was hot and he was very, very cross, and so Costis might as well have been speaking the language of the gods for all he understood.

"Just get it over with," Kamet said.

"Ah, husband, I can feel your love in every word." Costis grinned, and when Kamet opened his mouth to argue with that obvious foolishness, he found himself being kissed instead.

Costis wasn't as drunk as Kamet, and this kiss was very different from that one drunken moment in Roa. For starters, the crowd roared the moment Costis' lips touched his. But then there was Costis himself: nearly sober, solemn in his movements, strong and intent and so very, very close to being naked.

Kamet had thought he'd been in love before. He had, maybe, after a fashion. But not like this.

Need roared through him, and he was helpless in the wake of it. His knees trembled, and his head spun, and his heart felt like it might explode. An alarming set of feelings, all told, but Costis held him so firmly that for a moment, he couldn't worry about it. He couldn't even think. He let Costis hold him up, let Costis kiss him - then he kissed back and the roar from the crowd redoubled, until he could have no doubt that they had fulfilled their duty.

He stepped back. Costis looked at him as though seeing him anew, lips bright red, breathing harder than he might have at the conclusion of a fistfight.

He watched in fascination as Costis squared his shoulders, preparing for something, looking Kamet earnestly in the eye as he opened his mouth to say -

"Kamet! Kamet, no! Kamet, duck!"

What?

Kamet turned, following the new path of Costis' gaze. He saw the knife too late; even as he gripped the hilt in his gut, he felt himself wrenched from consciousness.

-

Fever.

He knew it by the internal signs: confusion, too hot then too cold, pain, aching horror. He knew it by the babbling he only half-remembered and the nightmares that made him scream. But he did not understand what surrounded him: a soft bed, kind words, large hands holding onto his. Someone fed him broth and he snarled, knowing that every bit that passed his lips would only be justification for greater punishment for his indulgences once he was back to himself again.

Once, he thought he heard someone say, "Kamet, please, no one will punish you; Kamet, I cannot take you back." But he didn't understand it; it took him weeks to reconstruct the words from his bits of memory. Mostly he only remembered pain and dread, each amplifying the other.

And then, after some time had passed, he found himself capable of thinking again. He thought: I am thirsty. And he opened his eyes.

Costis slept in the chair next to his bed, but Kamet had only to shift and he blinked awake again. He looked terrible; he was clad in Eddisian dress, but dirt and oil stained his collar, as though he hadn't bathed since the festival.

Which had passed, surely, by now. "How long?" Kamet said.

"You're awake. You're really - don't move." Costis leaned forward, pressing a hand down on Kamet's shoulder, though he remembered his abdomen wound now and had no intention of even twitching. "Four days," Costis said. "The doctor told us to make funeral arrangements."

Gen the kitten hopped up on his bed, apparently unconcerned with such things as sutures and fever. Kamet found he was capable of lifting a hand to scratch the kitten behind his ears.

Capable of petting a kitten, yet imagined to have been dead. "Ah. I apologize."

"No." So fiercely spoken, so moved with feeling for his friend. Kamet wished he could feel something, anything, beyond the now-familiar aching want.

Surely by now he ought to be satisfied with friendship that ran so deep, caring that was greater than anything he'd experienced before. Surely by now he ought not to feel ready to sob when Costis pulled a hand back, looking Kamet over head to toe with brilliantly concerned eyes.

"You shouldn't have survived," Costis said. "But I am very glad you did."

It occurred to Kamet that he also shouldn't have been stabbed at a routine festival. "The person who stabbed me -"

"The assassin." Costis nodded. "Caught, interrogated, and executed. A messy business, but quickly resolved."

"No conspiracy, then?"

"Nothing more than a desire for gold and a disturbance of the soul."

Kamet thought that there must be more detail that Costis was hiding from him, fearful of his upset. He wanted to tell Costis that he wouldn't get upset: he cared very little for the Eddisian Queen's welfare, beyond a basic concern for her as a human being he didn't think deserved to die. All these impertinent thoughts were on his lips, but then he - wavered.

"I'm tired." He scowled. "I just slept for four days."

"With fever," Costis the ever-obvious pointed out. "You should sleep some more." He offered Kamet a tin cup of water. "I'll watch over you."

"You ought to bathe." Kamet drank the water, then emptied the cup again after Costis refilled it. "You stink."

"Well, I had to hold you down while they sewed you shut." He sounded upset about it all, and was, Kamet thought, very pink. But now he stood too far away for Kamet to read his thoughts from his expression. He'd think it was deliberate, only Costis wasn't generally capable of such deceptions.

"Hm, well." He settled back against his pillows. "When you get back, I shall require dictation of a letter. We must make a report to the King."

He hadn't said anything funny; he didn't understand why Costis laughed as he left.

-

His report to the King, despite being very detailed, did not mention the fact that he'd been stabbed halfway to public coitus with the King's favored soldier. It hardly signified, and anyway, Kamet knew the King would laugh at him if - when - he found out.

They waited in Eddis for a response. Kamet still had to stick close to Costis, had to keep up the lie; Costis seemed comfortable with it. Kamet told himself that his misery was entirely related to his slowly, painfully healing stab wound.

When the orders came, however, they were almost disappointingly brief: the Crown thanked them both for their service, and would be sending monetary compensation to Roa, where they were directed to return and resume their posts.

"Do you think we can tell everyone that our travels made us realize we're better as friends?" Kamet said.

Costis frowned. "Do you want to?"

I want you to love me! Kamet wanted to wail. "Don't you? It's a bit inconvenient."

"I don't think so. It makes things easier sometimes. Fewer awkward questions, for one. And people don't question me when I ask about you, or when I stay by your side."

Had they questioned him before? It seemed to Kamet to be an enormous oversight on his part, not to have noticed such a thing. No one had asked him much of anything, unless you counted Libba's gentle inquiry, or Jon's desire for mentorship. Kamet could hardly countenance those, as wrong-minded and based on lies as they were. "I suppose."

Costis still watched him with that odd, cautious look on his face. "Of course, if you wish to be available to others, I know the King would support your settling in Roa."

Did he know that? Kamet managed to restrain a bitter laugh, but only just. "I don't think the villagers would like that much, do you? They'd be after me for breaking your heart."

He wasn't sure why Costis flinched. They didn't bring it up again after that; Costis got them kitted out for the trip back to Roa, and then it was all carriages and guided passages and awkward nights in various nondescript inns, Kamet lying awake listening to Costis' too-close breath.

On their last night traveling, a mere half day's ride from their cottage, Kamet dreamed of their first full day in Roa. Costis had been a little scragglier back then, still worn down from their escape from the Mede. He had looked at Kamet with his head cocked, and for the first time, Kamet had been aware of what the uneasy stirring in the pit of his stomach might mean.

"You're having trouble with this," Costis had said.

"What of it?"

Kamet had been rude many times in the weeks prior, and so Costis hadn't taken offense. He only said, "You know what it means, don't you, that you're here? That you left?"

I'm a traitor, Kamet didn't say. I will never be the powerful voice behind the throne that I dreamed, he bit back. "What do you think it means?"

"You were always supposed to be free. All men are," Costis had said. "But you especially. That's what the King saw. It didn't sit well with you."

For a moment all Kamet had been able to do was stare. He had no words to say how wrongheaded that statement was, how cruel in its insight. None of the slaves of Nahuseresh's house had taken to the work with ease. No man would. Kamet had wondered if Costis had simply overlooked that, or if he truly imagined Kamet to be some sort of - special sort of slave. Well, he had been, but not in the way Costis had meant.

It had been many months after that, in reality, before Kamet came to understand that Costis sometimes said stupid things while trying to offer comfort. In the dream, though, Kamet said, "No man is meant to be a slave," throwing Costis' own words back at him as a challenge. And in the dream, Costis nodded, and warmth suffused his expression. He reached out with those big hands, placed them on Kamet's hips, and kissed him. This kiss was neither drunken nor desperate; it was sure, and loving, and it went on for forever.

Kamet woke, sweating profusely, inches from a peacefully slumbering Costis. He lay awake for the rest of the night, cursing his ancestors, Costis, and the entirety of Attolia.

-

It was a relief to return to their cottage. Libba had been in a few times to ensure windows stayed shut and their grain stores remained intact; she'd left a note on one of Kamet's pieces of scrap paper. The house smelled fresh and familiar and -

"Home," Kamet said with some surprise.

"Yes," Costis said. "I'm glad you remember now."

Something in his tone made Kamet frown. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

He looked over just in time to catch Costis' cheeks turning bright red. "You asked me to take you home, when you were - sick." Dying, Kamet's brain helpfully filled in. "I told you we couldn't, and you got upset. But I suppose you were just confused."

He had wanted to go home; their village was so much more peaceful than even the most well managed royal court. If he'd asked to return to Mede, he had no memory of it. "I meant here. Did you really think I wanted to be returned to my master?" Even saying the words felt like ash in his mouth.

Costis' blush deepened. "I don't think I was thinking properly. I - my apologies."

Kamet had inspected complex clockwork before. He'd thought to be able to repair his own timepiece, even; but after hours of poring over diagrams, he found he didn't have the temperament or the expertise to make sure everything was set just so, perfectly aligned for accuracy.

He still lacked the patience. The last piece of the puzzle that was Costis clicked into place for him, and he realized that it had been very obvious for quite some time now.

The blush. The way he looked away from Kamet, over to Kamet's window, and then blushed even more. The dried flowers Kamet had hung from the ceiling beam, which Costis had brought home for him. The carefully arranged pens, three of which Costis had brought him.

This was their home, and Costis had thought Kamet didn't mean to return. Costis had imagined all of this easy for Kamet to ignore, or forget, in the depths of fever.

Oh, Costis. Kamet almost reached out just then, to confirm the theory that wasn't quite a theory, the sum of all his observations finally arranged in a way that let him see the truth.

But Costis said, "Oh, I'd better check on the - the garden, my - specimens - barn -" and fled.

A spark lit in Kamet's chest. Not desire, this time, nor anger.

Hope.

-

He couldn't quite think about it. The possibility that he'd gotten it all wrong made him tremble in painful hope; he could only skirt the edges of the idea. But he knew that to get what he wanted, he'd have to clear up their misunderstanding. Accordingly, he woke early on their first full day back in Roa and made the trip into town.

Jon, as he'd hoped, was able to make some time for him after the first early morning rush. "What's this about, then?" he said as he set a plate of meats and cheese out on the back room table.

"I haven't been, ah." It was harder to say than he'd expected. "Completely...honest...with you."

Jon had never had to listen to the King of Attolia spin a web of intricate, convincing lies just for the sake of amusement. He said, "Oh, okay. Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's fine."

Kamet bit the inside of his cheek. With fingernails digging into the table, he finally forced it out. "Costis isn't my husband. He's only a friend. I lied because it was convenient, and I'm sorry."

He thought Jon might grow angry, or perhaps just very upset. He wasn't prepared for Jon to stare at him, blinking slowly, and say, "Huh. Well, that can't be true."

"What? Of course it is!"

"Well, perhaps where you come from." The smile Jon gave him then let Kamet know that he was perfectly aware of just how thoroughly Kamet had obfuscated that particular detail. "But here, you declared your marriage and you live together, and it's been, hm. Almost a year? Of the living together, anyway. And you've traveled together, too, and accepted invitations on behalf of yourselves as a pair. Travel, sharing a home, social events." He ticked each off on his fingers. "Here, that's a marriage."

Anger and embarrassment caused Kamet's face to burn. "Jon, I'm trying to be honest with you. Please don't - lie, or joke, or whatever this is. I was at your wedding, remember? I know what a Roan wedding looks like."

"Ah. But a Roan marriage is a bit different. Not everyone's the town butcher, you know. Plenty of folks become married with considerably less fanfare."

That sounded horribly, humiliatingly believable, and perfectly in line with what Kamet's translations had taught him of Roan history and culture. Oh, Gods. "So if we were to, I don't know, go before the King as husbands..."

"It would be legal. Well, I suppose your intent to deceive could complicate things. But if you both felt it truly, then you would be married in truth - and to be honest with you, the whole village would swear up and down that your affection is legitimate."

That was even more embarrassing. "Well. Thank you for telling me."

"Of course." Jon took a bit of sausage from the platter. "Forgive my manners, but I must ask. It is legitimate, isn't it?"

What could he say? That he loved Costis with burning fervor, that his heart flipped over in his chest every time he got a smile or a blush or even a look out of him? That he lay in his lonely bed and pined for Costis' touch?

It was all embarrassing, but even moreso was the way his silence appeared to confirm Jon's suspicions. "Ah, my friend," he said. "You'd better tell him."

"He knows," Kamet forced himself to admit. "He must. It's obvious, I suppose."

Jon took pity on him. Instead of confirming Kamet's suspicions, he only said, "That assumes he's let himself look, don't you think?"

And so the wretched spark of hope stayed alive as he walked home. Costis had told him not to wait up, as he was apparently very eager to return to old surveying points and hunt for evidence that someone else had disturbed them in the months they'd been gone. Kamet thought of him rooting around in the dirt, plucking interesting plants and humming to himself, and felt affection twist his guts.

Foolishly, he made a full dinner. It was cool enough now that he could simmer a pot of stew with some of the sausage Jon had sent him home with, and he had bread from the baker, and dried berries and nuts from Libba. It would be a feast that he was sure to eat alone, at which point perhaps he'd finally give up on this dream of domesticity.

But even as he sat down to a lonely table, the front door banged open and Costis trundled inside. "Oh," he said, stopping dead as soon as he saw Kamet.

"Hello," Kamet said. "I set a place for you."

Costis blinked very rapidly. "I thought I'd be out later."

The spark of hope flickered.

"Yes, well." Kamet fought a scowl, but his temper won out. He frowned ferociously at Costis as he said, "We are married in truth, Jon tells me, so I thought I ought to be a good house-husband and ensure you had something to eat."

"Oh, no," Costis said, and let his bag fall to the floor. "I'm sorry."

More puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Wait." Kamet pushed his chair back, leaving the fragrant stew in favor of stomping right up to Costis. "Are you trying to tell me you knew? You knew about Roan custom, the three -"

"Social requirements. Yes." Costis wore a familiar expression of misery. He felt impugned, Kamet thought, as though perpetuating this not-quite-lie was bad for his honor, and not just miserably humiliating for Kamet. Kamet had been all wrong, then. Costis had been hiding knowledge of Roan custom, to spare Kamet's feelings, not - whatever Kamet had hoped for. "I should have told you. I thought there would be a good time to do so. But, well, there wasn't, and I hoped you already knew, so."

"So, so, so," Kamet said viciously. When Costis flinched, he added, "Well, it's all right, isn't it? Jon tells me it's only legal if the intent is there. Two liars don't make a truth in themselves, so we're safe."

Costis' shoulders slumped. Kamet thought this might be the end of it: horrible wounds mutually inflicted, left alone to heal. Costis would move out, of course, and return to Attolia. Kamet would go back to his translations and die very old and alone, a spymaster with no friends. They were no Ennikar and Immakuk, not right now. They couldn't be.

"So," Costis said. His tone was tight with - anger? What right had he to be angry? "You think that's it, then? You say something stupid, and I leave you? I guess that makes it easier for you, if you convince yourself you never could've had it. That it always had to end with me leaving."

Kamet couldn't make sense of the last bit, but he had something to focus on anyway. "I did not say anything stupid. I told the truth, which is more than you've done, it would seem."

A roll of his enormous shoulders, an irritated sigh. "Just once I would like to learn the truth in a straightforward way," Costis told the ceiling.

Kamet looked up. Gen the kitten sat in the rafters. He meowed in a very unimpressed way.

"Come here, you irritating little ass," Costis said.

Kamet somehow didn't realize he wasn't talking to the kitten until Costis grabbed him. He had no chance to protest, no hope of doing so successfully. Costis picked him up with the ease that Kamet might sign his own name, and turned, pressing him against the wall next to the still-open door.

He couldn't move. Physically, he could have pushed Costis away. Costis would have moved. But he found himself frozen in place, on his toes, the wooden walls of their cottage pressing into his shoulder blades. His head spun; he found breathing suddenly difficult. Costis stood inches away, rough palms cupping Kamet's elbows, thighs pressed against Kamet's hips.

"What do you do when you want something?" Costis said.

The question rankled. "I bargain for it. We can't all be soldiers who knock people over the head and take whatever they want."

"You know I don't do that."

Kamet did know, but he felt out of his depth and terrified by it, so he set his jaw and glared. Costis might leave after this; he seemed angry enough to do so. Kamet would not give him the satisfaction of begging.

"I am not a liar," Costis said. "My King knows it, or he wouldn't have sent me with you. I'm very bad at lying."

Wait.

"Do you mean to say," Kamet began, but Costis had apparently tired of civilized interplay. He leaned forward, lifting a hand to cup Kamet's jaw, stroking a rough thumb over his lips. Kamet thought he ought to protest the liberties being taken, but Costis' expression had softened so distractingly, and little sparks seemed to dance over his skin in the wake of Costis' touch, and - and -

And this time, when Costis kissed him, no one at all was watching.

Almost no one: Gen the kitten meowed furiously, and Costis broke away with a laugh. "It's just as well that he can't get into my bedroom."

Kamet had stiffly insisted Costis take the larger bedroom when they'd first moved in. Now he thought about filling it up with all his things. Dangerous, sharp-edged joy began to build within him. "Our bedroom."

Costis blinked down at him. He began to smile. There was nothing dangerous there, only honest joy. Kamet loved it, coveted it. He thought he could steal bits of it his whole life and never be satisfied.

He thought Costis might let him, might give him as much as he could.

"Yes," Costis said. "Our bedroom."

Yes, Kamet thought. Yes. He jumped up, wrapping his arms around Costis, kissing him with all the fervor and need that he'd been trying to bury.

It was perfect. Costis groaned into the kiss, then returned it tenfold, lifting Kamet clear off the ground. It was the work of moments for him to kick the door shut and carry Kamet to his bedroom. Later, Kamet would notice the decor, the careful way Costis had left room for another chest of drawers, a second set of shoes. Now, he only cared about the bed, upon which Costis threw himself with abandon.

"Please," he said. He was lustily proud of his need, and unnervingly open in his declarations. "You have no idea how long - please touch me."

The few times Kamet had let himself think about it, he'd imagined his own humiliation. He knew he'd be humiliatingly desperate for it, and Costis would of course be calmer, more confident. That was always how it had been between them. But now, he understood his mistake. Desperation did indeed course through him; he wanted more than he could possibly get in the next hour. But Costis stretched languorously, arched his back, reached for Kamet with eager hands. He might be comfortable begging, but he was still begging, already hard and ready to be touched. Costis, Kamet now understood, wanted this very badly, just as Kamet did.

And he was so, so eager to have Kamet on top of him, touching him, taking him. When Kamet lowered himself on top of Costis and kissed him, Costis made eager pleading noises, rutting against Kamet's hip. Kamet combed his fingers through Costis's hair, tugged sharply, and Costis gasped and said, "Oh, more of that, please."

He loved saying please, Kamet learned, and he loved being directed. When Kamet said waspishly, "Put your hands on me, then, don't you know how?" Costis laughed with giddy delight.

And he loved to say Kamet's name. He must have been saying it with love for quite some time; the tone was familiar, and the pronunciation, the way Costis formed his name so carefully. "Kamet, yes, you're so beautiful," he said when Kamet touched him. "Oh, Kamet, let me," he said as he knelt between Kamet's legs. "Ah - Kamet - oh, Gods, harder," he moaned when Kamet pressed fingers into him.

When he came with Kamet's cock inside him, he didn't say anything. He only breathed, his eyes locked on Kamet, his fingers flexing around Kamet's hips - and it was unavoidable then, the love and the need, so overwhelming that Kamet could do nothing but follow him over the edge.

After, Costis insisted on cuddling, even though they were both sticky and disgusting. He pressed his mouth against Kamet's neck and said, "You're like the sun."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Bright. Pretty." He patted Kamet's shoulder, as though Kamet might miss that he meant it somewhat literally. "And...needed. Important."

"That's ridiculous," Kamet said. Costis answered with a snore.

No one, not even the blasted cat, was close enough to overhear him whisper: "You, too."

-

In two weeks, Kamet received a missive from a contact he had been cultivating in the Mede empire. The odd payoffs they'd been chasing after in Eddis traced back to the Emperor's distant cousin, who evidently had no intention of allowing the distance of the relation to prevent his ascendancy to power - and subsequent conquering of the tiny countries across the Middle Sea.

He sent word to Attolis, and then thanked his spy, with coin for both her and any others that she might recruit. And then he went out to the garden and explained the situation to Costis.

"Huh," Costis said.

"You do not wish to return?" Kamet said. "If Attolia rides to war, she'll need her best soldiers with her."

"The King can take care of that. We're all very skilled. And besides, the King's spies need taken care of, too."

"You can't possibly mean me."

"If I leave," Costis said, "you won't eat. Ah, don't argue. You won't sleep. You'll wear yourself to the bone and pine away."

"Now you're just being ridiculous! This is a serious situation -"

"You'll probably starve out here, forgetting to even go into town."

Costis was laughing. The entire continent might be overrun in very short order, yet Costis sat in the sunshine, nose turning bright red, laughing at Kamet as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Kamet found that he loved it, and that he loved Costis. "All right, then, husband," he said. "You'd better come inside. I have some housework that needs to be taken care of."

When the door closed behind them, Kamet turned to pull Costis into a kiss. Costis was ready, and laughed as he drew Kamet to the floor, neither of them willing to wait to walk down the hall.

Kamet ended up covered in dirt and still worried about the Mede invasion, and very, very happy. So happy, in fact, that when Gen the young cat came into the kitchen to yell for food, and Kamet saw the piece of paper affixed to his collar, he didn't even startle. He unpinned it and read the curling, not-so-anonymous script: CONGRATULATIONS, KINGNAMER.

"Gen, you utter bastard," he said into the open air, and laughed.