Page 24 of Arrows

“But it’s real. I mean. Him and me.”

“Do you need me to say it again? It’s real. I’m going to throw you out of my tent now.”

“Let me get dressed first,” Van said, laughing, getting up; laughing because he couldn’t not, because the joy and the tenderness were bubbling up inside, because he could see his future and he wanted to dive into it and come up surfacing through sunlight.

Clothing thrown on, weapons gathered, he came back to Lorre. The magician had stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, bundled into the emerald blanket; he got up as Van came over. His eyes gave the emotion away, though he ran a hand through his hair and flattened it into behaving.

“I’m here,” Van said. “I just want to tell you that. I’m here if you ever need me.”

“I won’t.”

“We’re friends, and I care that you’re doing all right.”

Lorre did a credible impression of complete dismay at that statement. “We’re not friends.”

“We are, though. And thank you. For telling me about Milo. For everything.” He touched Lorre’s cheek; the magician let him. “For all of it. Nothing I’d ever imagined. A dream come true. Magic.”

“Of course,” Lorre said. “That’s me. I won’t say good-bye, in the morning.”

“I know. But, Lorre…” One more touch, tucking blond silk behind an ear. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to be. I hope you do find someone. Someone like you, or someone you like. Enough to let them stay with you, anyway. To try.” He made sure Lorre was looking at him, for the next bit. “You deserve that, being happy. And, look, either way, if you ever want…you come and find us, if you’re lonely, all right? You know where I’ll be. In an inn. Being ordinary.”

“I’m not ordinary.” Lorre caught Van’s hand, held it for a moment, let go. “But thank you. Evander. Van. I’ve stopped the rain for you, by the way.”

Van grinned at him. “Thanks.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Van said, and he meant it. In every way, with all of himself. “Yes.”

The world flowed and dissolved. Lorre’s magic pushed him through space and distance like mist and clouds, a heartbeat, a pair of beats, until his boots hit the very tangible mud of the ground, and Van’s next inhale held cooking-smoke and the scent of just-departed rain.

Chapter 7

Most people weren’t around; Van guessed they were packing up, readying to leave, aware of the Queen’s order about the morning and dismissing the volunteers. A person he didn’t recognize, who’d been adding wood to the fire, was staring at him; well, fair enough. People did not generally walk out of the air on a daily basis, unless, of course, Lorre happened to be involved.

He said, to the staring person, “Don’t worry about it,” and thought, Milo, and did not run, because of the mud. But he walked quickly.

When he got closer he saw their shared tent, and he saw familiar red hair and apprehensive freckles outside, pacing. Milo stopped to gaze up the hill, at Lorre’s colorful stripes and ribbons; he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He took a step, still looking up that way, and stopped.

Van said, “Milo.”

Milo spun around. Froze. Then launched himself Van’s direction, heedless of mud. “Van—you’re here, he let you go, you’re safe—”

“I’m here. I’m fine.” He put both arms around Milo, marveling at the recognition of it, the way they fit. “It’s all right.”

“It’s been hours—I thought—”

“I wouldn’t leave you—”

“You might not have a choice, if—” Milo bit his lip. His hands, on Van’s shoulders, were cautious as a physician’s attempt to do no harm. His eyes searched Van, up and down. “Come inside. Sit down. If you’re hurt, like yesterday—how can I help?”

“I’m not hurt.” He let Milo lead him inside, where they’d slept beside each other, where they’d comforted each other, where they’d known each other. Milo had got out packs but left the bed-rolls, no doubt because the volunteers weren’t officially dismissed until next morning. The canvas of their tent was undecorated; the small lamp barely kept out the afternoon lowering of clouds.

He caught Milo’s hands in his. “Milo. I’d never leave you like that.”

“He might have just taken you. He would do that.”

“Honestly, I think he wouldn’t. Not without asking. Or at least he’d feel bad about it, after.”

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