Page 6 of Arrows

“I should completely worry about that!”

“Um. Should we….I mean…do you need me to explain anything about—”

“I’ve had sex before!”

“With men?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” Milo said, looking away again: the corner of the bed-roll, the tent-flap, his own boot. “Right. You’re fine, then. You don’t need my help.”

Van deflated. “I mean. Twice.”

“Twice—oh. Only twice?”

“And one woman, once. Figured out I wasn’t as interested in that. And it wasn’t that big a village. Not a lot of options, really.”

“Right.” Milo paused; his mouth did something like a smile, teasing, though the emotion didn’t match his eyes. “So…it was all right, then, and you know at least some things, about what you’re doing?”

“Some. He must have courtesans. Dancers. Acrobats. Why’d you tell me not to worry? I’m worrying.”

Milo drew a breath, let it go. In tent-veiled light, muted and beige, he stood out: auburn and blue-eyed and freckled, spices and sugar and compact muscle. He put a hand on Van’s shoulder. “He saw you. He chose you. He must’ve had a reason. So don’t overthink it. He wants, well, you.”

“Me.”

“The person you are. The person anyone would—I mean, he knows everything. Magic and all. So he doesn’t want a courtesan or an acrobat. He picked you.”

Van looked at him—at his best friend, his anchor, that solid presence—and felt the warmth of Milo’s hand on his arm, and the intensity of blue eyes watching him; Milo, he knew, did not think this was a good idea.

But Milo knew he, Van, wanted it. He’d said yes to it. He wanted Lorre. And, because Van wanted this, Milo was offering reassurance. Assistance. Help.

He said, “Thank you, y’know. For that. For everything, really.”

Milo took the hand off Van’s arm. “Any time. You know, any time you decide to seduce a magician. I’m your friend. Here to help.”

“You are.” His arm felt colder, deprived of touch.

“We’ve got some time,” Milo announced, now contemplating Van’s hair, clothing, boots, “and we’ll need it. Bath. Oil. Clean shirt.”

“We’ve got drills in twenty minutes.”

“After that, then. That’ll be good, first. A distraction. You can think about something else.”

“I can’t think about anything else. Will he be watching?”

“No. He told you to do what you normally do.” Milo picked up the whiskey, had a gulp, closed the flask. Evaded Van’s gaze, though that might’ve just been normal motion. “So we will.”

“We.”

“Come on,” Milo told him, getting up, holding out a hand. “Focus. Our job. Drills first.”

Chapter 3

Several hours later, Van—freshly bathed, hair combed, dressed in his own trousers plus a lightweight flowing shirt Milo had tossed his way, clean and smooth as water to the touch—hovered outside Lorre’s tent in honeyed late-afternoon light.

He couldn’t just go in. Could he?

He’d been invited. Ordered. Both.

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