“I don’t know about that.” Theomer ducked his head, looking down at his lap, but then he raised his eyes to Heron again. “Your dramatic performance was excellent, though.” He lifted his hands to lightly applaud.

  Heron rolled eir eyes, but dipped a quick bow. “Thank you, thank you. Come back tomorrow for the opening of our next show, Woe to the Enemies of Petra.”

  “I think I just might.”

  Heron’s eyes wandered to the window. “Oh—the rain’s stopped. I didn’t even notice.”

  “You’re not planning to go work now, are you? We need to talk about that ending—I wasn’t expecting the gods to step in, after neglecting Avra for so long…”

  So Heron stayed, and they talked till dinner, and then through it in the dining room, and afterward Theomer said he wasn’t about to ask Heron to read any more, eir voice had to be tired, but would ey like a chess rematch? Heron agreed, and they played until it was dark.

  When Heron stood to go to bed, after losing several more games, Theomer rose too and stood facing em. “Well, good night, Heron. And—thank you. For today.”

  “Oh—no need to thank me. Um, I enjoyed it. Thank you. Um… good night.”

  Ey hastened away before ey could babble anymore, unsure why Theomer’s quiet gratitude made em feel like the world had tilted, and ey had to scramble to stay upright.

  6

  Three mornings later, Heron arrived at the dining room to find the table set as usual, but Theomer absent. Ey took eir seat dubiously, wondering what had happened to change his routine.

  The last two days had been clear, and ey’d spent them back in the garden. For the first time, though, ey’d wondered what Theomer did all day—besides playing the harpsichord—and whether he enjoyed doing it. Whether he would rather have hired a companion than a gardener; if that was why he’d wanted Ma to stay over em. But ey had brushed those away as silly, pointless thoughts. Of course ey didn’t know what Theomer was thinking, what he felt. What he wanted.

  Heron had only been waiting at the table for a minute when Theomer walked in—clean-shaven. Ey couldn’t help staring. “Yes, I know,” Theomer said before ey could find words. He turned his head, letting his still-matted hair fall in front of his face. “I decided it was time I do something about… this.” He waved a hand to indicate his entire head.

  “Well,” was all Heron could come up with at first. The beard’s absence revealed the strong lines of Theomer’s chin, the hint of his cheekbones. “Um, good job. Very, ah, smooth.”

  “Yes, well, that was the easy part.” Theomer held up a hank of his hair, wincing. “This will be a bit more difficult. I… wondered if you could help me? After breakfast?”

  “…All right.” Heron wasn’t sure exactly what that would entail—chopping it all off? It would be a shame if Theomer lost all those impressive locks, but if it was what he wanted…

  They talked over last night’s portion of Petra as they ate, but Heron was mildly distracted. Ey’d never cut anyone’s hair before. What if ey left Theomer’s head a mess of ragged tufts? Well, maybe they would just laugh about it together. It could hardly be worse than his hair’s current state.

  When the automatons brought the post-meal coffee, Theomer crooked a finger at one of them. “Prepare a basin of warm water in the washroom?” It inclined its head and departed.

  Oh—Heron would be washing Theomer’s hair. Why was that even more nerve-wracking than cutting it? Eir heart suddenly seemed to be beating too close to eir skin.

  Theomer was currently speculating on whether Byute would show up in Petra’s story now that Ellemere had made an appearance, and Heron refocused on the conversation, putting on an innocent smile accompanied by a shrug, not about to give the answer away. Ey swallowed eir coffee in a few gulps, though, too restless to linger over it.

  “Ready?” Theomer asked after finishing his own with a long draught, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes.” Heron was on eir feet almost as soon as the word left eir mouth, and ey cringed internally; it would be odd to come across as eager.

  Ey followed Theomer through the empty entrance hall and up the stairs, struggling to match his long strides until he glanced back and slowed. “Sorry. I’m not used to…”

  It was strange to hear Theomer trail off, apparently having started the sentence without knowing where it would go. “It’s fine,” Heron answered when he didn’t continue. “I am used to—” Ey cut emself off; ey’d meant to say being a step behind, but it seemed too self-deprecating, or like an insult to Theomer, which certainly wasn’t what ey meant. Instead, ey just repeated, “It’s fine.”

  The requested basin of steaming water awaited them in the washroom, alongside a pile of cushions. While Theomer unclasped his cloak, Heron fussed with arranging them, giving Theomer privacy as he partially undressed.

  When Theomer turned, stepping toward em, Heron hopped to eir feet. Theomer stood with his shoulders hunched, and any measure of intimidation in his demeanor seemed to have dropped away with the cloak. He looked smaller now, more vulnerable, the cut of his loose shirt exposing the pale skin of his throat. A mere half-hour of sunlight would be enough to burn him. His only adornment was a chain around his neck, whatever hung at the end hidden beneath his shirt.

  Theomer met Heron’s gaze, his expression hesitant, unsure. Right. Heron had a job to do. “All right, so, if you lie down here…”

  Theomer sank down to sit on the floor, then lay back, shifting a bit. Heron knelt and trailed a hand through the water as if to test the temperature, needing to do something while ey waited.

  “All right.” Theomer’s eyes cut sideways to Heron for a brief moment before fluttering shut. “I’m ready.” He tilted his head back, letting his hair float and then sink into the waiting water.

  Heron’s hands hovered over the basin for a moment. Theomer no longer being able to see em took some of the pressure off, but at the same time, it made em more nervous. Theomer was trusting em with this personal, intimate job. What if ey fucked it up somehow?

  No. It was just hair, that was all. Just work, just another task to complete; another thing that needed cleaning up and sorting out. Ey immersed eir hands, fingers briefly cupping Theomer’s scalp to pull his head back a little farther before delving into the thick brown mass. Ey swished the floating strands through the water, thoroughly wetting them, then set to work prising apart the smaller snarls, leaving the larger ones to soak. All the while Theomer’s eyes remained shut, eyelids twitching occasionally in response to a splash or an accidental pull, which Heron muttered apologies for, to which Theomer murmured back, “It’s fine.”

  Once enough of the hair was disentangled, ey lifted the waiting bar of lavender-scented soap and scrubbed up a lather. As ey began working it through Theomer’s hair, eir eyes crept to the man’s face, studying the details as his body moved slightly with each breath. Long, elegant nose; thick eyebrows; prominent jaw. Cheeks—their bareness still startling—red where the razor had irritated the unaccustomed skin. Pale, lightly chapped lips, which were slightly parted at the moment…

  Ey made emself look away, retrieving the soap to lather up some more. What would Tiel think if he saw this? There was something about the cushions, Theomer’s prone form, Heron kneeling over him, taking such care with the tangled strands, fingers practically caressing Theomer’s scalp…

  “Do you have a comb?” ey blurted, rocking back, abruptly withdrawing eir sudsy hands. “Sorry, I should have asked for that at the beginning.”

  “Oh.” Theomer’s eyes fluttered open. “Yes, of course.”

  Heron scrambled to eir feet, but Theomer motioned to the automaton standing silently by the door, and it strode off into the hall. Of course. Had ey really thought Theomer would send em into his bedroom?

  With a long breath in, ey knelt again, hands once more cupping Theomer’s head, tilting it back a bit farther. Ey teased apart the remaining matted clumps, aided by the comb the automaton delivered. Finally eir fingers slid easily through the now-silken strands, loosing the remaining soap, and Theomer sighed. “That feels good.”

  Heron’s motions stuttered for a moment. The words made em feel like this was more than just innocent hair-washing. Eir throat was suddenly dry, eir stomach suddenly warm…

  “Having it clean, I mean,” Theomer went on, eyes still closed. “I can feel the difference already.”

  “Oh. Right.” Heron was grateful that Theomer couldn’t see eir reddening face, and ey sped up eir rinsing, finishing the process with a pitcher of fresh water.

  “All right. All done.” Ey sat back on eir heels, and Theomer heaved himself up, twisting to kneel with his neck bent over the basin, hair dripping into it. Heron grabbed the waiting towel and thrust it into his hands, eir warm, pinkened fingers meeting Theomer’s cold, pale ones.

  “Thank you.” Theomer shifted, sitting back and enveloping his hair in the towel, patting it down. His eyes found Heron’s. “I don’t think that would have gone as well with one of the servants in your place.” He offered a brief smile, the towel slipping down to leave his hair free, hanging wet and stringy around his face. Why was the sight so charming?

  “Ha, I bet your hair would have gotten caught in its finger joints. We’d have to name the unfortunate fucker ‘hairy hands’.” Heron smirked as ey got to eir feet, wiping eir own hands on eir trousers. “Um, but, you’re welcome. Happy I could help.”

  Theomer pressed the towel against his face, absorbing a rivulet running down his forehead. “Well then, I’ll see you for dinner?” he asked, voice muffled.

  “Yes—of course.”

  It felt wrong to leave him like that, on the floor, the cushions needing to be picked up, the water needing to be disposed of. But the automatons would take care of that. Theomer didn’t need em anymore.

  * * *

  Pulling up dead stalks and replacing them with new seeds kept Heron’s hands occupied, but allowed eir mind to wander. Eir body still held a measure of tension, eir mind still holding the image of Theomer, eyes closed, putting himself in Heron’s care.

  Do I need to be jealous? Tiel teased in eir mind. Not serious, not really meaning it, because he didn’t have any doubts that Heron remained committed to him. Why should he?

  Heron scowled at a climbing hydrangea nearby. The first time ey’d been working near it, ey’d stood to find one of its vines wrapped around eir ankle, nearly tripping em. The resistance when ey’d unwound it had been much greater than it should have been. Ey planned to find some stones to build a low wall around it, keeping future unsuspecting ankles safe.

  I trust your judgment, Theomer had said, back at the beginning. Beyond the garden, the rambling forest halted at the property’s encircling wall. Somehow, Heron had been allowed to breach that barrier, and then another, and another… When, seemingly, no one else had. Not for quite some time.

  Of course, that was only due to a combination of happenstance and Ma’s machinations. Theomer hadn’t chosen em; he’d wanted it to be Ma here. She could have been the one reading to Theomer, listening to him play, washing his hair. There was nothing special about Heron.

  Having finished tucking a series of columbine seeds into the dirt, ey decided it was time to haul some rocks. Hopefully ey’d end up too tired to keep having these ridiculous thoughts.

  Hours later, eir shadow stretching long over the plants, the automatons putting away the tools for the day, ey pulled eir trowel from the dirt to join them. Ey caught a whiff of eir own sweat and grimaced—it had been a warmer day, and ey’d have to make sure to wash well before dinner in order to be presentable company…

  “Heron?”

  Ey started, falling back on eir ass, dropping the trowel, turning eir head toward the voice. Theomer was standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t sure how to avoid startling you.”

  “It’s fine.” Heron scrambled to eir feet, standing with eir back unusually straight, struck speechless by Theomer’s transformation. The shaving this morning had made quite a difference already, but now, with his hair clean… Fully dry, it had a slight wave to it, and shone amber where it caught the sun. He wore it half pulled back, unable to hide his face, the loose half draping his shoulders. A long, deep blue jacket had replaced his cloak. He looked like the hero of a classic novel, a noble lord. Except for his posture, shrinking slightly under Heron’s gaze; except for his expression, uncertain, eyes cast down.

  Ey wanted to say You look good, but those words refused to leave eir mouth. Instead, “You clean up well” emerged, sounding casual, offhand. As if ey didn’t want to keep staring, didn’t want to move closer and touch Theomer’s hair again, to see if it was as soft as it looked. “Am I late for dinner?”

  “No.” Now Theomer’s eyes darted up to Heron’s face, his chin lifting slightly. “I just wanted to come see your progress. Would you give me a tour?”

  “Oh—yes, of course.”

  Nerves danced through Heron as ey led Theomer around, babbling about the mundane and magical plants alike. A bit worried that eir work would be a disappointment, that ey’d failed to live up to Theomer’s expectations. But Theomer nodded along, commenting once in a while. “I forgot we had those,” or “I like what you’ve done there.” He seemed perfectly happy with Heron’s choices, and by the time they’d reached the fountain at the far end, Heron felt silly for being concerned.

  They stopped before the empty basin, and Theomer’s gaze rose to the figures at the top—the lovers, he’d called them. Heron’s eyes went wide when they caught the fallen lily bloom ey’d set atop the headless one’s neck—it had been a whim ey’d indulged earlier, finding the orange flower too pretty to discard, and enjoying placing something in that empty space.

  “More of your work?” Theomer asked, nodding toward the flower, and Heron couldn’t read his tone.

  “…Yes, I just stuck it up there, I don’t know, it seemed—”

  Theomer silenced em with a brief touch of eir arm. “I like it.”

  Heron breathed out. Ey almost babbled a trite line about turning brokenness into beauty, but instead said simply, “Me too.”

  Theomer turned and settled on the fountain’s wide rim, his back to the statue now, and Heron sat beside him. For the first time since ey’d begun work, ey took in the garden as a whole. Ey’d made good progress—it hardly looked like the same place. Still slightly wild, slightly untameable, but that was part of its charm. Part of what made it beautiful.

  Theomer regarded it too before his gaze moved to Heron, body shifting along with it. “It’s coming along nicely. You’re good at this—tending it, I mean. Caring for it.”

  Heron shrugged, scooping up a stray ivy leaf from the ground to twirl between eir fingers. “It’s what I’ve done all my life. Just, with crops instead of ornamental plants.”

  “I don’t think it’s just that, though.” Now Theomer touched eir knee, lightly, just for a moment. “You have skill. But more than that, you have passion. You’re invested, and it shows.”

  Heron’s free hand twitched where it rested on eir leg, close to the spot Theomer’s fingers had brushed. Ey kept eir eyes on the leaf in eir hands. “Well. Thank you. For the compliment, and the opportunity.”

  Those sounded almost like parting words; as if ey had finished, and was about to go on eir way. “Of course, there’s still more to be done,” ey continued. “That corner is still a bit of a mess, more planting to do…”

  “Your mother said she’s hoping to get out of farming one day, to work solely on her machines,” Theomer remarked. “What will you do then?”

  Heron felt Theomer’s eyes on em, felt the weight of the question—of someone asking em what ey wanted.

  “I’m… not entirely sure,” ey admitted, glancing up at Theomer, letting the leaf fall. “Stay on and keep it up, maybe. Could switch over to cultivating flowers, now that I’ve gotten this experience.” Ey gave a light shrug.

  Theomer half-smiled; why did Heron want him to never stop? “Well. If you ever want a change, there’ll always be a position open for you here.”

  He rose before Heron could respond, turning to offer his hand. Heron took it, feeling slightly dazed. Ey let Theomer pull em to eir feet, and then they stood facing each other, hands still clasped, the sun lighting Theomer’s face and glinting off his hair. Awash in the scent of primroses—which, Heron had discovered, came from the foxgloves—with the low whine of insects in the background. Theomer’s hand was larger than Heron’s, his grip firm yet gentle, fingers smooth against Heron’s calloused ones. No sign that he noticed or cared about the dirt coating them.

  “Dinner?” Heron asked, the word coming out raspy.

  “Dinner,” Theomer agreed, and dropped Heron’s hand. Why, as he turned toward the castle, did ey ache for him to grasp it again?

  7

  In the garden the next day, strains of one of the quick, cheerful melodies Theomer was favoring lately drifting out to em, Heron couldn’t stop his words from echoing in eir mind.

  A position open for you…

  Why did eir heart leap every time ey recalled them? It wasn’t because ey loved the garden—not that much. The notion of bringing some seeds and cuttings home to start eir own flower garden was exciting too. But… staying here… with Theomer…

  Last night when they’d gone to read, Theomer had ventured into the music room and sat down at the harpsichord, playing a brief tune; when he’d caught Heron staring at his hands, he’d smiled and said, “Here, sit,” sliding over to make room. And when Heron had, barely an inch between their bodies, Theomer had guided eir hand into position on the keys. “All right, now press down with this finger, this finger, and this finger.”

  Heron had, producing a simple chord. “Hmm. Not so hard after all,” ey’d quipped, while unable to keep the grin off eir face. Theomer’s mouth had quirked up in response, and then he’d placed his hand over Heron’s again, playing a simple tune through Heron’s fingers, making Heron’s breath catch in eir throat. Ey’d longed to shift eir fingers to entwine with Theomer’s; ey’d longed to run eir other hand through Theomer’s thick, luxurious hair. Ey’d longed—

 

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