found Torr’s horse and he could
see the dried posy still hanging from his saddle. It was one more
reason the man spoke madness; Torr had an invasion to help fight so
he could return to his beloved, he shouldn’t be devoting himself to
looking out for Bertie. But when Torr spoke again, he seemed to
disagree. “And someone must see that you are safe, for his
sake.”
The hand that smoothed Bertie’s skirt over
his hip and nervously patted his combed hair was to buy him a
moment as he struggled to control himself. There were so very many
thoughts swirling in his mind, like the excited and anxious knots
suddenly in his stomach.
A statement like that would imply that the
outcome of everything depended on more than just Godric, that there
were others who dreamed and made their decisions based on what was
best for others, and Bertie thought, distantly but fiercely, that
with so such people on their side, there was no way they could
fail.
“Godric worries about everything, for
everyone,” Bertie murmured, because it was true, but also because
only the Trickster himself would give Bertie this information at
the moment he had to leave.
“But for none so much as you, my lord.”
Godric’s warm hearthstone voice carried even when he did not raise
it. Bertie spun around to watch him approach. Godric continued to
speak. “I had thought this clear.”
Godric was in armor again, his sword at his
side, again. Bertie’s chest tightened with pleasure and fear and
the nearly overwhelming desire to hold Godric down and prevent him
from leaving. It was unfair that everything else in the world
outweighed the wants of Bertie’s heart. The gods were both kind and
cruel.
“Perhaps to prudish Southerners,” Bertie
remarked finally, faintly and not at all evenly, but he managed sad
disapproval, even a cluck of his tongue a second later. “Your jaw
is already rough.”
“Beards are good for the winter months,”
Godric commented back, still calm even if his eyes travelled again
and again over Bertie’s face. He came to a stop a short distance
from Bertie and scratched his chin. There were a few blossoms in
his hand, a scant collection of asters this time.
Bertie frowned at them, at Godric really, a
true frown. Hopefully even a scary one. But Godric stood before him
and those cursed wagons were behind him, so if this was Bertie’s
chance at a farewell then he ought to take it.
“As long as you shave it when I see you
again,” he allowed, and froze when this made Godric stop. That
thoughtful expression crossed Godric’s face again and Bertie
wondered what Godric was dreaming of that made him smile as he did,
wide and accepting as if a deal had been struck.
“When I see you again,” Godric agreed with
such lights in his eyes that Bertie took a step forward. He halted
himself, just barely, only to have a moment of confusion when
Godric’s hand took hold of his arm, when Godric came to him and was
so near.
Godric’s brow was lined like the corners of
his eyes and he moved with a flash of color that held Bertie
still.
Bertie breathed out hard, shuddering with
awed, delighted confusion as Godric tucked the handful of flowers
into his hair. Godric pushed the stems into the dark strands to
ensure that not one would fall but Bertie did not protest the
tangles. There were flowers in his hair that Godric had put there.
He wondered if Godric had had the same vision of all ending well,
if Godric also thought that it had to be so, so that Bertie could
pull him close on the palace steps as garlands of victory fluttered
down around them.
When Godric was finished and had lowered his
hand once more, Bertie slowly reached up to feel what had been
done, only to hesitate without daring to touch a single petal.
Around them, others were watching, amused or shocked or disgusted,
he could not tell. He did not much care to take his eyes from
Godric to look.
But Godric was wrong. “These are for
soldiers,” Bertie said at last, and was
see the dried posy still hanging from his saddle. It was one more
reason the man spoke madness; Torr had an invasion to help fight so
he could return to his beloved, he shouldn’t be devoting himself to
looking out for Bertie. But when Torr spoke again, he seemed to
disagree. “And someone must see that you are safe, for his
sake.”
The hand that smoothed Bertie’s skirt over
his hip and nervously patted his combed hair was to buy him a
moment as he struggled to control himself. There were so very many
thoughts swirling in his mind, like the excited and anxious knots
suddenly in his stomach.
A statement like that would imply that the
outcome of everything depended on more than just Godric, that there
were others who dreamed and made their decisions based on what was
best for others, and Bertie thought, distantly but fiercely, that
with so such people on their side, there was no way they could
fail.
“Godric worries about everything, for
everyone,” Bertie murmured, because it was true, but also because
only the Trickster himself would give Bertie this information at
the moment he had to leave.
“But for none so much as you, my lord.”
Godric’s warm hearthstone voice carried even when he did not raise
it. Bertie spun around to watch him approach. Godric continued to
speak. “I had thought this clear.”
Godric was in armor again, his sword at his
side, again. Bertie’s chest tightened with pleasure and fear and
the nearly overwhelming desire to hold Godric down and prevent him
from leaving. It was unfair that everything else in the world
outweighed the wants of Bertie’s heart. The gods were both kind and
cruel.
“Perhaps to prudish Southerners,” Bertie
remarked finally, faintly and not at all evenly, but he managed sad
disapproval, even a cluck of his tongue a second later. “Your jaw
is already rough.”
“Beards are good for the winter months,”
Godric commented back, still calm even if his eyes travelled again
and again over Bertie’s face. He came to a stop a short distance
from Bertie and scratched his chin. There were a few blossoms in
his hand, a scant collection of asters this time.
Bertie frowned at them, at Godric really, a
true frown. Hopefully even a scary one. But Godric stood before him
and those cursed wagons were behind him, so if this was Bertie’s
chance at a farewell then he ought to take it.
“As long as you shave it when I see you
again,” he allowed, and froze when this made Godric stop. That
thoughtful expression crossed Godric’s face again and Bertie
wondered what Godric was dreaming of that made him smile as he did,
wide and accepting as if a deal had been struck.
“When I see you again,” Godric agreed with
such lights in his eyes that Bertie took a step forward. He halted
himself, just barely, only to have a moment of confusion when
Godric’s hand took hold of his arm, when Godric came to him and was
so near.
Godric’s brow was lined like the corners of
his eyes and he moved with a flash of color that held Bertie
still.
Bertie breathed out hard, shuddering with
awed, delighted confusion as Godric tucked the handful of flowers
into his hair. Godric pushed the stems into the dark strands to
ensure that not one would fall but Bertie did not protest the
tangles. There were flowers in his hair that Godric had put there.
He wondered if Godric had had the same vision of all ending well,
if Godric also thought that it had to be so, so that Bertie could
pull him close on the palace steps as garlands of victory fluttered
down around them.
When Godric was finished and had lowered his
hand once more, Bertie slowly reached up to feel what had been
done, only to hesitate without daring to touch a single petal.
Around them, others were watching, amused or shocked or disgusted,
he could not tell. He did not much care to take his eyes from
Godric to look.
But Godric was wrong. “These are for
soldiers,” Bertie said at last, and was
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