Page 2 of Talismaker

"Get lost or you'll be praying someone has the decency to take you to the nearest hospital."

The man glared, but given the amount of blood covering the snow, pouring dramatically from his broken nose, he clearly had just enough sense to escape while he could. When he was well gone, Millé turned to the man he'd tried to accost. "Are you all right?"

"Very well, thanks to you," the man said with a smile. "I deeply appreciate the help. I shudder to think of the state I'd be in if you hadn't come along."

Millé shrugged. "Footpads are generally cowards. Make enough noise, and they tend to decide you're not worth the trouble. But I'm glad I could help. Where are you going?"

"Home, and still a few blocks to go. You should come with me. The least I can do is offer you food and drink in thanks."

"I don't want—"

"It's not an imposition, I promise. I would be distraught if you refused," the man said with another smile, everything about him warm and friendly. He hadn't said anything about Millé's eyes, either, which was shocking. Maybe he somehow hadn't noticed yet. The smart thing would be to leave before he did and everything fell apart… but Millé was tired and hungry and not too proud to pass up the chance at a good meal.

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that," Millé said, and tentatively offered his hand. "My name is Millé Greene."

Taking his hand without hesitation and shaking it enthusiastically, the man replied, "Tyri Morsca. Come on, let's get moving before this snow shower turns into a full-on blizzard."

Morsca? That sounded like a clan name, if he recalled correctly. Well, that explained the eyes. He'd only come across maybe two other clan people in his life, barely in passing, but they'd never seemed troubled by his eyes.

He relaxed slightly, true hope curling through him. Maybe he really would get to sit down to a hot meal, possibly with wine or beer, though he'd just as happily take tea or water that didn't smell like the slums.

The snow made the journey longer, and the swiftly increasing cold as the sun began to set didn't help, but eventually, finally, Tyri led the way up a set of stairs to a bright green door set in what seemed to be almost silvery limestone. So they were in one of the fancy parts of town. Was Tyri a noble? He was using the front door, so he likely wasn't staff, unless he was something high ranking, like a secretary or runescribe.

Inside, they shucked their snow-soaked outerwear before Tyri led him further on, into what seemed to be a sitting room done in creams and a dark, handsome pink, cheerful and pretty without searing the eyes. A fire was already crackling away, drawing Millé like a moth.

He'd just gotten his fingers to thaw when the door flew open and a man larger than life stepped into the room. "Tyri! There you are! I was worried sick! Where have you been? What took so long? Did that moldering flytrap give you any trouble? Oh, who is this then?"

"Rathte, I'm fine," Tyri said with a fond laugh, and crossed the room to give him a kiss. Millé's everything ached watching them, easy in each other's company in that way only lovers were. He'd giveanythingto have someone look at him that way. Especially Captain Fair, but he'd have more luck seducing the stars. "This is my new friend Millé Greene. He assisted me with a small problem on my way home. Telson was no problem, though, he folded like a wet napkin."

"What small problem?" Rathte asked, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing important," Tyri replied.

"Try again."

Tyri groaned. "It'sfine,nothing bad happ—"

"He was inconvenienced by a footpad. I encouraged the man to bugger off," Millé said.

"A footpad!" Rathte bellowed at the same time Tyri glared at Millé and said, "Traitor!"

Turning back to Rathte, Tyri said, "Enough, you can yell and fuss later, but right now I promised him a hot meal in thanks, and I think we both could do with Liste's famous toddies."

Millé's stomach fluttered at that name. It was just a coincidence. Liste was a common enough name, but he reacted every time he heard it anyway. Captain Liste Fair, the most beautiful and compelling person Millé had ever met. His lieutenant and then his captain, and if he'd crooked his finger just once, he could have been whatever else he wanted to Millé.

"Where is Vessie?" Tyri asked.

"Still at tea with Lavender and the rest of the Mischief Club," Rathte replied, and tipped Tyri's head up with a finger beneath his chin to kiss him firmly. "We are discussing this footpad later."

"I know," Tyri said with a soft smile. "I expect nothing less from you. I am perfectly well, though, thanks to Millé. Now get me a toddy."

"Yes, my sweet." Rathte turned to the door and bellowed, "Liste! Liste! Stop polishing your shoes for the thousandth time—" He stopped as someone appeared in his line of sight, though as the person, Liste presumably, was still in the hall, Millé couldn't see them.

Then an achingly familiar voice in that dry tone Millé still vividly remembered, replied, "Don't be ridiculous, my lord. It's half past seventeen hundred; I was admiring my reflection in the silver."

No, no,no. Please let him be mistaken. His chest twisted in dread—and his heart sank all the way to his toes as Liste,hisListe, stepped into the room.

Fuck, he was even more beautiful now. Millé hadn't seen him for nearly five years, and those five years had been extraordinarily kind to Liste. Captain Fair. He'd never been Liste to the likes of Millé. He would never presume such a familiarity, no matter how much he ached for it.

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