Ink and Steel

“Faerie has some joys.” He turned away as Will struggled into a nightshirt. Plumage rustled as Will made himself a place in the featherbed, the perfume of a woman coming with him. Just as well,Kit sighed. Perhaps he’ll lie easier now that he’s reclaimed that.And then he caught the scent of rosemary and lemon balm on Will’s hair, and turned, mouth half open, before he stopped himself. I could wish he’d chosen differently or do you simply wish that you had chosen differently, Marley?

Will, half settled among the pillows, returned Kit’s stare wide-eyed. That as much as anything told Kit how fey his expression must be.

“Kit?”

“Will.” But what do you say? You haven’t a claim on him.“Thou hastn’t anything to prove to me.”

“Perhaps I had something to prove to myself.”

“Ah. Of course.” Kit opened his mouth again, to say whatever he had been about to say, and closed it before the words could escape. “Just be careful, Will.”

Will laughed, softly, and tugged the covers. “What chance have I against the likes of her, sweet Christofer, an she decides she wants me?”

For which Kit had no answer. The thrill of delight in Will’s voice told him more than the words, anyway. He lay back down, a serpent gnawing his bosom, and dreamed of sunlight and herb gardens and the beating wings of ravens and of swans. He woke again before Will did and stretched in the morning sunlight, surprised by how rested he felt. He stood and performed his toilet, stealing a glance at Will before he dressed. The other poet had burrowed so deeply beneath the covers that all Kit glimpsed of him was one ink-stained hand. Kit smiled fondly, for all he still felt seasick with jealousy, and went to collect his rapier from the stand beside the fireplace. I’ll have to get another main gauche,he thought, although he wasn’t sorry to have left the slender blade in de Parma’s back. I wonder what the coroner will make of a silver dagger, beyond the estimate of price?

He turned to check his hair in the mirror over the mantel, tilting his head in curiosity as he noticed the papers stacked there. The roll of poetry didn’t surprise him. The letter addressed in Will’s cramped hand to Thomas Walsingham did, and Kit’s fingers almost brushed it before he tugged his hand back. It’s not as if he made any effort to hide it from me. I could always just ask. If I weren’t so out of the habit.He settled the rapier on his hip one last time, turning for the door. Which reminds me, I should write Tom myself and let him know I’ve queered the game with Baines and Poley.

So early, the palace was still as quiet as Kit had ever seen it in daylight. He wandered downstairs, idling, and made his way into the hall to see what there might be to break his fast upon, if anything had yet been laid. A few Fae clumped at trestles along each wall, sipping steaming mugs and carrying on quiet conversation. Kit was first surprised to see brownies among those present, but quickly nodded. The kitchen staff dines early everywhere. He was less pleased to see Morgan le Fey rise from the sole occupied chair at the high table and beckon him, but he went. She looked composed this morning, lovely, robed in some fine, unrestrained black fabric that clung to her body when she gestured. Kit swallowed sharpness and moved forward, ascending the steps.

“Your Highness,” he said, and bowed.

“What, so formal, Kit?” She reached out and took his hands, drawing him to her side. She did not sit, and neither did he, aware that they made a lovely picture in their sable finery, framed against the crimson hangings at the back of the dais. Her hair was dressed, today, into a high elegant coil, a single strand of tiny pearls wound through its blackness. Her changeable eyes were poison green over the cheekbones of a goddess, and she suddenly took his breath away. “Art unhappy?”

“What have you done to my William, Madam?”

A raven-black eyebrow arched. “Your William, is it? And yet I heard you said to Murchaud that he was for the ladies, and in the manner of one who knows for himself the truth of his words. No matter,” she said, shifting abruptly, turning away from the hall without releasing his hand. She led him between the draperies, to a passage he had suspected but never walked down. “Come, spend a little time with me.”

“You are my mistress,” he said, and fell into step.