Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The coffin is bronze and without adornment. It doesn’t belong to a king, or esteemed knight, or even a respected commoner. At least it isn’t a mass grave or a pile of ashes on a pyre as the Bazhir would have it.

Thom tosses away the lid with a flick of his hand, easy as blowing away a feather. The body of the man resting inside is perfectly preserved. His expression is quiet and impassive, as though he’s merely sleeping.

Caleb Widogast. Exandrian spy and attempted co-conspirator in Duke Roger’s attempt to overthrow the Tortallan throne.

“What a waste of potential,” Thom mutters as he raises his hands.

The ritual comes both quicker and easier than he expects. Death is a clock that can’t be turned back, but Thom is more than aware of what can be accomplished with the refined application of raw power.

Perhaps it helps that Caleb is from another land with its own pantheon. Perhaps he isn’t bound to the laws of the Black God. A line of inquiry for Thom to consider more deeply later.

Caleb’s eyes open. Thom realizes with a shiver that his irises are the liquid purple of Thom’s own Gift.

“Hello,” Thom says, realizing far too late he should’ve planned out an explanation for this moment. His conversational skills have always been lacking—first according to his father and then every priest who’s had contact with him—and it turns out talking to the recently-resurrected isn’t any easier than the other living.

Caleb turns to look at him. His fingers wiggle. Seems like a good sign. It means the muscles and nerves in his arms are working.

“We haven’t met,” Thom continues, mentally cursing himself again. “I am Thom of Trebond and you are Caleb Widogast. Can you understand me?”

Caleb’s chin tilts down in a gesture Thom chooses to interpret as a nod of confirmation.

“You died alongside Duke Roger in his attempt to overthrow the crown. I’m a sorcerer in Tortall and I brought you back to life. Do you remember—no, this isn’t the right time.”

“Why?” Caleb asks, his voice a death rattle. Perhaps Thom should’ve brought a waterskin. Caleb must be thirsty after months of being a corpse.

An easy question to answer. “I knew that I could and I wanted to.”

“Why me?”

“I’ve read all your essays,” Thom says in a rush, barely stopping himself from mentioning that he has most of them memorized. There’ll be time to talk about Caleb’s work later, now that he’s alive again. “We need more minds like yours in the world.”

Caleb nods that almost-imperceptible head tilt again before he moves to sit up. It’s a slow and stiff process, but he is moving. Thom feels a second wave of academic euphoria.

He’s done it.

Brought someone back from the dead. And it isn’t only Caleb’s mind that’s been restored, but his body as well. The ancient manuscripts he’d studied intensively weren’t clear on that particular point.

“What now?” Caleb asks as he begins the shuffling movements necessary to escape his former coffin.

Thom offers a hand, wondering if this is how knights feel helping ladies from their carriages. Like a single touch holds a world of possibilities.

He wants more than anything in the world to sweep Caleb off to the palace, to scream that he’s more powerful than any living sorcerer, equally as powerful as the gods. He has enough experience with nobility, though, to know it would be a short-lived celebration. He can’t trust them not to kill Caleb a second time.

“Trebond,” Thom says with certainty as though that’s been the plan all along and not something he settled on about ten seconds ago. “I’m taking you to my family home in Trebond.”

“Will they—” Caleb pauses. Thom doesn’t have to be good at human interaction to know he’s trying to think of the easiest way to ask if they’ll kill him.

“No one in my family lives there anymore, only the servants to keep the house running. They won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He’ll make sure of it.

Caleb still looks doubtful, but he doesn’t say anything more as Thom leads the way out of the crypt. It’s a cold and lonely place on the outskirts of Corus, far away from anyone of actual importance in Tortall’s eyes.

It’s well past midnight, the dark providing the best possible shield against accusations of grave-robbing. Thom regrets not having his horse waiting but that would be asking to be caught.

“I’m sorry,” Thom says as Caleb stumbles over a loose stone in the dark. He reaches out to try to steady him, but Caleb makes a sound like a growl. “We’ll have to walk back to the inn, but I’ll have horses for the journey to Trebond. You can ride?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Thom is more than willing to ignore the sharp tone in that single word, too busy mentally calculating the expense of a second horse. A cart would be simpler but Hallow’s never been a carthorse in her life and she isn’t about to start now.

He supposes it’s too much to ask that Caleb would have his own stashed away in a stable nearby. It would’ve been sold after his death, anyway.

They walk in silence broken only by Caleb’s whispered curses when he trips over another rock or tree root. They’re far too suspicious for Thom to attempt any kind of light—two men wandering away from the road, neither dressed for travel, neither with packs or horses, one recognizable as a relation of the Lioness and the other as a traveler from the Dwendalian Empire.

Better to stumble through the dark than draw attention.

Overall, it isn’t a horrid journey. The night is warm enough to be comfortable and the sky clear, but Thom is looking forward to the inn. The resurrection took more out of him than he’d like to admit, his Gift almost entirely drained. They might have to get a late start tomorrow so he can rest properly.

“Why are you doing this for me? What do you want?” Caleb asks as a soft glow of candles and fires begins to rise ahead of them. Perhaps ten more minutes before they’ll be reaping the benefits of the inn’s own hearth.

“I suppose…I feel responsible for you, in a way. What kind of person would I be if I raise you and then abandon you?”

Something sharp and dark flashes in Caleb’s eyes before he turns away, hiding his expression from view. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Thom says against his better doubts. Caleb was dead only an hour ago, after all. “Come with me to the inn. Sleep. We can talk about Trebond in the morning.”

“I’ve been sleeping for months,” Caleb says with a wry smile, but he doesn’t try to veer off and vanish into the dark. Thom’s fairly certain it’s all the promise he’s going to get.

***

The Crow’s Drop is a small inn along Olorun Road, marking the rough midpoint between Corus and Port Caynn. Following the road itself is a risk, but a worthwhile one. The inn mainly serves as a shelter for travelers caught out by sudden storms, making it quiet and well-traveled enough Thom and Caleb aren’t likely to be recognized.

There are only a few patrons still in the common area at this hour of the night and at least one is asleep in his cups. Thom tosses the barkeep an extra silver as they pass. She smirks as though she’s in on a secret and Thom can’t help the blush that rises onto his cheeks.

She can think whatever she wants, as long as the silver buys her silence.

At least Thom had the foresight to ensure one thing. He pushes open the door to his rented room and takes in the two small beds. They’d never have both fit in one and he doesn’t have the energy to bicker over who gets the floor.

“Sleep,” Thom says, pointing at the other bed. “And don’t even think about trying to run off. Alarm spells are already set.”

Caleb mutters something Thom can’t hear, too busy falling face-first onto his own bed. The straw mattress rustles, stray bits poking exposed skin on his ankle, but he doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure he could sleep anywhere right now.

Thom opens his mouth to say good night, but he’s asleep before the words come.

***

Thom wakes to soft sunlight pouring through the window and the sight of Caleb still asleep on the opposite bed. He’d known as much—the alarm spells hadn’t thrown him out of bed, after all—but it’s still a relief.

It’s the first time Thom’s been allowed to sit and look at the man, at least since he started breathing again.

His long red hair drapes over his face, tangled and dusty. He’s still wearing the clothes he was entombed in—simple linen, the better not to be observed as an outsider until it was too late—and Thom bemoans his own tendency to travel light. He doesn’t think he has anything to spare Caleb can try on.

Caleb’s eyes jerk open. The familiar purple staring back at Thom is a shock even though he’s expecting it. The lasting mark of his spellwork feels more intimate than the act of resurrection itself.

“You’re staring,” Caleb points out, untangling the thin blanket from around his legs so he can sit up.

“Your eyes,” Thom blurts out. “They’re purple.”

“Oh.” Caleb shoves his feet into his boots and Thom remembers they’re supposed to be talking about the journey to Trebond and whether Caleb will be joining him.

This feels important, though. “Have they always been purple?”

“My eyes were blue.”

Thom isn’t certain if he should apologize for taking that away from him. He tries to imagine how he would feel if their positions were reversed, but he doesn’t know that either. They’re in uncharted territory here in more ways than one. Thom says nothing at all, watching Caleb’s calloused hands as he ties his laces.

“Trebond?” Caleb prompts, looking up at him and resting his hands on his thighs.

“You want to come with me?”

Caleb’s face skips through the tiniest grimace. “I want to know what it’s like.”

“Right.” Thom imagines his estate, but he doesn’t know how to describe it in a way that sounds appealing. His childhood home has always been shadowed by memories of his father. It’s almost impossible to picture going back without Alanna, not that he has much of a choice now.

“You’re really selling it here,” Caleb interrupts Thom’s thoughts with a grin that seems almost teasing. Strange. Friendly ribbing is another thing typically reserved for his interactions with Alanna.

“It’s to the north. In the mountains. The Grimhold Mountains. Lots of forests. My father took a lot of pride in renovating and maintaining the estate until he passed. There’s a library—not nearly as grand as some, but it’s respectable.”

Caleb laughs and Thom’s ears go strangely warm. “I ask about your home and you tell me about the library.”

“I thought we might have something in common there. I’ve always preferred the library to anything happening in the gardens or foothills.”

“Perhaps we do share a few similarities,” Caleb says, waving a hand in the direction of his eyes as he stands. “When do we leave?”

“You’ll need a horse. My mare’s loyal to a fault, but even she can’t carry the two of us all the way to Trebond.”

Caleb sits again and Thom feels almost guilty for not being more prepared. “I’ll stay here. Maybe you could also get a cloak and something to dye my hair?”

“I’ll look,” Thom promises even though he’s fairly certain no one’s going to pay the slightest attention to Caleb’s hair with those eyes. He reaches for his boots, realizes he fell asleep with them still on, and ducks out the door.

***

The relief isn’t any less stark when Thom returns to the inn to find Caleb still waiting. He said he would be, but there’s always a chance he could change his mind and be gone.

“I hope you don’t mind spirited geldings,” Thom says in greeting as he tosses an oil-slicked cloak in Caleb’s general direction. “Sorry, no hair dye. I got some strange looks for asking in the wrong places.”

Caleb slips the cloak around his shoulders. Even with the breadth of them and the length of his arms, the sleeves hang long over his hands. “This’ll do. And what about spirited geldings?”

“There aren’t many horses around here people are willing to part with. I bought a gelding off a woman who is, in her words, a right pain in the ass.”

Caleb doesn’t even blink. “We’re leaving now?”

“If you’re ready.”

“I’m not the one with bags to pack.” Caleb glances around as if checking for his non-existent possessions. It shouldn’t make Thom feel as guilty as it does.

“I’m ready.” Thom drags his pack out from under his bed and slings it over his shoulder. As much as he prefers the comfort of four walls and his books, when he travels, he travels light.

The common area is entirely empty at this hour of the morning. Everyone who stayed the night either left before or after breakfast, and it’s too early for passersby to stumble inside in search of lunch.

Thom’s mare Hallow and Caleb’s new gelding are tied waiting for them, already saddled. Thom gives Hallow’s neck a quick scratch before he slips off the halter, replacing it with her bridle. She takes the bit with a calm resignation he’s always appreciated.

Beside them, a dragon snorts.

Thom glances over to see Caleb, hands outstretched, face hidden by the cloak. Maybe pairing an untested gelding and a cloak was a mistake.

Thom reaches into his pocket for a sugar cube, but Caleb’s already moving forward. He murmurs in a language Thom doesn’t recognize. The sounds are harsh and guttural, but against all odds the gelding seems to be calming.

At the very least he isn’t trying to pull back and make a run for it. Caleb reaches up, slowly pushing the hood away from his face.

Thom watches in mild surprise as Caleb manages to bridle the gelding without incident. It isn’t the first time Thom’s been grateful for Hallow’s forgiving temperament. If he’d bought the gelding for himself, the creature would already be halfway back to the barn, Thom stomping after him to demand a refund.

Job done, Caleb smiles and pats the gelding’s neck. “There you are. You just need someone to be kind.”

Hallow nudges Thom’s shoulder with her nose as if to ask if they’re going to be moving out today or not. He turns to Caleb, meaning to ask if he’s ready, but what comes out is, “What do you want to name him?”

“Jannik,” Caleb says without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Thom has no idea what that means—it’s probably another word in Caleb’s unfamiliar language—but the isn’t about to question it. “All right. Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Caleb says, swinging into the saddle. He looks comfortable there, almost vibrant in the morning sun. It’s hard to believe he was dead less than a day ago.

Thom mounts Hallow and looks to the north. He can’t see the Grimhold Mountains from here, but he can imagine their snowy peaks against the clouds.

To Trebond.

Chapter Text

Thom has always preferred traveling alone, but taking the road with Caleb turns out to be nearly enjoyable.

He doesn’t get impatient when Hallow fails to manifest the stamina to keep up with bred and trained warhorses. He doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill the silence with pointless chatter about people Thom doesn’t know or care about.

He also doesn’t scoff when Thom dismounts on the roadside to investigate an odd sparkle that turns out to be nothing more than a shiny but mundane rock.

It’s nice to have someone with him who—at the very least—tolerates the eccentricities of traveling with a scholarly sorcerer.

Speaking of which…

“Do you…” Thom pauses, uncertain how to proceed. “Has your memory been—”

“If you have a question, ask,” Caleb says, walking his horse along with a single relaxed hand on the reins. The wind sweeps through his long hair, making him resemble a fanciful painting. Like perhaps Jannik should be a unicorn and they should be riding through remote mountains in search of long-lost magical knowledge.

What a ridiculous notion.

Thom forces his mind back to his original question. “Do you remember everything from before you died?”

“Are you asking me how I died?”

“Not exactly.” Thom’s already familiar enough with the details of how Caleb was struck down by a surprise blow from Raoul of Goldenlake. He isn’t interested in anything more. “I was hoping to discuss your research.”

Caleb glances over with a quizzical brow. “You’ve mentioned that before. How’d you even get your hands on my essays?”

“It wasn’t easy.” And it cost more in greasing palms than Thom cares to ever admit. “I stole a copy of one from the masters. From there, it was all about finding the right people and handing over the right price.”

Caleb watches a sparrow hop from branch to branch along the roadside before he looks back at Thom and says softly, “Yes, I still have my memories.”

“What…what about your magic?” Thom would be remiss if he didn’t ask. He may not have been at the palace, but he’s seen the signs that Caleb fought to the last. The scorch marks. The burnt bodies. The toppled walls.

Caleb shrugs. He looks far calmer than Thom imagines he would be if their situations were reversed. “I’m not sure. I don’t have any components or my spellbooks.”

“Oh, right.” The very first of Caleb’s essays he’d come across was a fascinating piece of writing about innate magic and Exandria’s wizards who manage to learn spells without it. “What would you need, if you wanted to try?”

“Phosphorous, if you can get it,” Caleb says after a moment’s thought. “A tiny bell and silver wire for my own alarm spell.”

“I’ll see what I can do in Port Caynn,” Thom says. “You know, I tried to read your essay on simulacrum, but my copy had a great deal of water damage. Can you give me the gist?”

The hours and miles on the road pass easily as the conversation wanders from simulacrum to Thom’s research into long-forgotten spells to the Exandrian practice of druidic magic. It reminds Thom of his own brushes with stories of wild magic that seemed more like myths than facts.

Thom almost doesn’t realize they’ve arrived on the outskirts of Port Caynn until they’re right on top of it, the shouts of a bustling city clearly audible.

“We’ll be staying here tonight,” Thom says. It’s a risk, but they’ll likely be camping on the road more often than not as they head north. “This could be our last real bed before Trebond so I don’t want to waste it.”

Caleb nods, although Thom catches a glimpse of his clenched jaw before he pulls his hood up to block the view of his face entirely. Thom wants to reassure him but he doesn’t think No one really knew you died so they aren’t likely to recognize you is as comforting as it is true.

The Scarlet Gift is a small inn on the outskirts of the city. A little beaten-down but comfortable enough. It’s cheap and warm, the two most important aspects. Thom tosses a stableboy a silver before he leads Hallow and Jannik away.

As Thom gets them settled with a room and supper, Caleb pushes his hood back, smiles in all the right places, and says nothing. It’s almost unsettling to watch him sink into the background, as unnoticed as a man with such vibrant red hair and purple eyes can be.

Thom doesn’t like it, not that he can put his finger on why.

Caleb’s surrounded by an air of tension as well as the cloak until Thom closes the door to their shared room. There’s again two beds on opposite sides, although the small size of the room itself means there’s only a few feet between them.

“Sorry I didn’t shell out for an inn with a bath,” Thom says, shoving his pack under the bed to the right. His skin crawls with the dust, dirt, and sweat from a day’s riding, but he doesn’t feel inclined to go through the trouble when he’ll just end up dirty again tomorrow. Might as well wait until they’re safe in Trebond.

“It’s fine.” Caleb hangs his cloak from a nail sticking out of the wall above his bed. “I learned a long time ago that people don’t tend to look twice at someone who resembles a beggar.”

Thom stares, unable to do anything else in the wake of the reminder that the man he’s traveling with isn’t simply a fellow mage scholar but a foreign spy. He’d rather not imagine what Alanna would say about this.

“Dinner?” Caleb asks, as though Thom isn’t currently considering what level of treason he’s committing.

Thom nods and ties his coinpurse to his belt. “Dinner.”

***

Thom lets the ambient chatter wash over him as he shares a mutton pie with Caleb in the common room. Port Caynn sees visitors of all sorts—including a rare few from Exandria—and Thom is relieved to find no one gives them a second glance.

Here, they’re only two more travelers far from home.

He spends a few minutes at the bar, buying a drink or two in exchange for news of the road north. It’s all perfectly ordinary, only a few old warnings of bandits and the seasonal threat of rainstorms. Nothing the two of them won’t be able to handle.

After returning to their room, Thom runs through the annoying but essential process of setting up the alarm spells. Maybe he should track down a bell and silver wire for Caleb. Would be nice to share the responsibility.

“We can go shopping in the morning,” Thom mutters under his breath.

Caleb kicks out of his boots with a soft thump-thump. “What?”

“Shopping.” Thom removes his own boots and traveling cloak, although he stops short of anything more. “I’m sure the market district will have at least some of what you need.”

Caleb’s hand twitches toward his side, like he’s expecting to find a pocket there in his shirt. “I’d like that.”

***

Thom wakes to screams.

He bolts upright in bed, a spell on his tongue, but the room is as quiet and empty as it was when he fell asleep. The alarm spells are still in place, faintly glowing with purple light for his eyes only.

Caleb writhes in his bed, sheets wrapped tight as ropes around him.

“Caleb?” Thom calls but there’s no response. He climbs out of bed and crosses the meager space between them. He can’t sense anything magically wrong, but, then, there’s so much about Exandrian magic he still doesn’t know.

It could be a side effect of the resurrection. It could be…

Caleb yanks out of sleep with a gasp. Even in the dim light, Thom can see the sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face.

“What’s wrong?” Thom asks, heart in his throat. His hands are still outstretched, but he doesn’t dare touch.

“Nightmare.” Caleb chokes on his own breath and shoves his face into his hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Thom pauses, listening intently for any sign of pounding feet in the hallway. There are none. It probably says something about the Scarlet Gift’s clientele that he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

Caleb keeps his face hidden as he says, “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

Thom settles back down, but there’s still too much adrenaline running through him to even consider sleep. If he hadn’t promised to go shopping for Caleb’s spell components, he’d suggest they get a pre-dawn start on the road.

“What was the nightmare about?” Thom asks into the silence.

“I don’t remember.”

It’s a lie, and a poor one, but Thom doesn’t call him on it. He rolls over to face Caleb and closes his eyes, wondering if the more inviting position will make Caleb inclined to talk.

It doesn’t seem to work.

“When I was young,” Thom says without opening his eyes, “I had a nightmare that I could only speak a language no one else knew. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get anyone to understand me. My father would scream at me to get out of his study if I couldn’t stop speaking nonsense. My sister would just look sad.”

Thom pauses. He’s never shared this with anyone, not even Alanna, and he isn’t quite sure why he’s bringing it up now. He never woke screaming from those nightmares, not even…

“I’d try to hide in the library, but black sludge would ooze out from under the shelves toward me. It wanted to devour my Gift.” He was never really sure how he knew that when he woke up, but in the dream the knowledge came with bone-shaking certainty.

If the sludge touched him, his body would be reduced to an empty magic-less shell.

“These aren’t really nightmares,” Caleb confesses into the safety of night. “They’re memories.”

***

Thom opens his eyes to the sunrise, even though he hasn’t slept a moment since Caleb’s nightmare. They dress and gather their packs in silence before a meager breakfast in the common room.

“Still up for shopping?” Thom asks tentatively as they step out into the sunlit street.

Caleb’s eyes linger on Thom’s coinpurse. “We shouldn’t. I owe you too much already.”

“You aren’t asking me for a jewel-encrusted bowl or a Stormwing feather. It’s a few simple ingredients and I should pick up some supplies for the road, anyway.”

“Okay,” Caleb concedes, appearing almost shy as he looks up at Thom through ridiculously long eyelashes. “If the components aren’t too expensive.”

Port Caynn is a bustling port city, thick with life and salty sea air. Seagulls search for easy pickings overhead. A woman whistles as she sweeps off her porch. Men shout down at the docks, their voices carrying from the coast.

It’s far from Thom’s favorite place in Tortall, but the proximity to trade has its perks.

He picks up a tether for Jannik, a roll of bandages, a few extra blankets, a waterskin for Caleb, and enough rations to sustain them until they reach Trebond’s kitchens. Alanna has always been the hunter of the two of them.

“No silver wire here,” an Exandrian merchant says in broken Tortallan Common. “Try jeweler. Down by the docks.”

There’s no harm in checking. Thom has yet to see a bookseller in this city, perhaps he’ll get lucky closer to the action. He’s about halfway to the seaside when he realizes Caleb is no longer keeping step beside him.

Instead, he’s frozen on the side of the road a few paces back. He isn’t looking at Thom, but past him.

Thom sweeps his gaze casually over their surroundings, as though he’s simply searching for books that might be tucked away from his first glance.

There. A woman is chatting with a fruit merchant along the roadside. She has short black hair and almost brutal features. Her simple leather armor and boots are streaked with sea salt and the sword hanging from her hip is of clearly Exandrian design.

Thom backs up, trying for relaxed and probably failing. “Are you okay?”

“I know her.” Caleb’s voice is strong but far away. Even hidden under the cloak, Thom can see him shaking. “Her name is Zada.”

“Do you want to talk to her?”

“I should.” Caleb takes a large step back, into the shadowy embrace of an awning. “They should…they should know I’m alive.”

“If it’s safe…” is all Thom has time to get out before Caleb turns on his heel and runs in the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

Caleb is fast.

It’s an unfortunate fact as Thom has never in his life been what he would consider “fast” or “a good runner.” He prefers to leave sprinting to messengers and horses.

It’s only the fear of losing sight of Caleb’s cloak that keeps Thom moving. Caleb dodges down one side street, then another, cuts up through a fish market, and only slows a bit when he reaches the churning crowds of the town square.

It’s easier to blend in when Caleb isn’t running like the Black God himself is after him, but that counts true for both Thom and whomever Caleb is fleeing. Thom doubles his pace, not wanting to lose him in the hubbub.

At last, he catches Caleb’s arm by a marble fountain, a statue of a dragon perched at its apex.

“We have dragons in Exandria, you know,” Caleb says, staring up at it with unfocused eyes, like he might be trying to see straight into the Dragonlands. “Why don’t you have dragons here?”

Thom takes one look at Caleb’s stricken face and says, “I’ll tell you on the road. Let’s get out of here.”

They’re both silent as Thom leads the way back to the Scarlet Gift. Caleb is stiff, moving like a child’s toy with limbs guided by strings. He keeps his hood up and his eyes on the ground.

Thom tries not to stare as they wait for their horses to be groomed and saddled. He wants nothing more to ask why Caleb took off like that, if only to know what the odds are he’ll do it again.

He’d rather not contemplate whether Caleb should even be on a horse in his condition. He’ll never be able to show his face again if Caleb falls and lands on his head.

“Dragons,” Thom says once they’re on the road north and Port Caynn is fading behind them. The wind off the ocean cuts deep and he laces warmth through the threads of his riding gloves. He waits for Caleb to turn in his general direction before he continues. “The truth is—” loathe as Thom is willing to admit it “—there’s very little knowledge on the subject of dragons.”

Caleb tilts his head in Thom’s direction, the only sign he’s listening and not still lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts. Progress, at least.

“Our current era began when Carthaki mages banded together to banish the immortals from our realm,” Thom says. “Dragons are immortals, but there is much discourse on whether the spell keeps them at bay, or if they simply chose to withdraw.”

“Like our Divine Gate,” Caleb says, his voice creaky as though he hasn’t spoken in days rather than less than an hour. “Although, the Prime Deities created that themselves, not the other way around.”

“But you still have dragons, don’t you?”

Caleb’s hands aren’t quite as white-knuckled on Jannik’s reins as they were when they first set out. “I’ve never met one. They’re still rare and excellent at disguising themselves, but yes. Some dragons are considered protectors in Exandria.”

Thom’s tempted to suggest perhaps Tortallan dragons retreated to Exandria, but he has trouble imagining the imperious creatures of legend becoming human protectors or ingratiating themselves among human civilization. He’d sooner see an eagle flocking among seagulls.

Still, perhaps he shouldn’t rule it out so quickly. “Can your dragons travel between realms?”

“I assume so.” Thom expects Caleb to stop there, but he doesn’t. He carries on, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world, with, “I can travel between realms.”

Thom freezes so abruptly he’s surprised Hallow doesn’t carry on without him. “You can what?”

“I can Plane Shift.” Caleb twists in his saddle, an eyebrow quirked up. It doesn’t feel like he’s joking. “You can’t do that here?”

Thom’s struck with the incredibly childish urge to push Caleb right out of his saddle and watch him flail in the dirt. It comes out petulant as he asks, “Where would I go? The gods aren’t exactly welcoming to mortals.”

“The Feywild?” Caleb blinks at him. “The elemental planes?”

“The what?”

The morning hours while away with ease as Thom listens with rapt attention as Caleb explains the Feywild, a land of magic and trickery; the fire, water, air, and earth planes; and the mysterious darkness of the Shadowfell. By the time he’s finished, Thom’s head is swirling and he’s ready to clap his heels to Hallow’s sides and gallop off to see all of it for himself.

“You can travel to these places?” Thom asks, nearly breathless with excitement. “Whenever you want? Could you take me with you?”

Caleb offers him a knowing smirk. “Not without preparation. The spell doesn’t work without a fork tuned to the realm you want to travel to. Otherwise, we’d all be scattered across the cosmos.”

“Oh.” Thom deflates in the saddle. Scattered across the cosmos sounds rather permanent and unavoidable.

“Someday I’ll take you to all of them.” Caleb looks over, not quite smiling, and Thom looks away. As promises go, it’s far too heavy. They’re making this up as they go along. It isn’t like they have a future together.

Thom clears his throat and his eyes land on the silver waters of a stream just ahead. “We should stop up there for a rest.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted our shopping,” Caleb says as they free Hallow and Jannik from their bridles and picket them to graze. “I hope we didn’t forget anything important.”

“We have enough to get by.” Thom leaves out the fact that most of what he’d still been hoping to find was for Caleb, anyway. He lets silence hang between them until the horses are settled and he’s dividing up their lunch rations. “You knew that woman.”

The stiff line of Caleb’s mouth is enough for Thom to regret bringing it up, even without the way his eyes go blank. “Zada. I—we’ve met. She’s a Volstrucker.”

“Should I know what that means?”

“If you did, you’d probably be dead.” Thom shivers at the frigid tone in Caleb’s voice. “I shouldn’t tell you any of this.”

“You don’t have to.” Thom’s almost surprised by how much he means it. The odds of anyone from Exandria stumbling onto them once they reach Trebond are slim to none. It isn’t the kind of place travelers happen on by the accident of a wrong turn or an unexpected storm.

Caleb wrings his hands in his lap, paler now than when he rested in his coffin. “I do. If they’re here, they’re a danger to everyone around me.”

Worry settles like a stone in Thom’s chest. “What do you mean?”

“The Volstrucker—Scourgers—are a secret even in Exandria. Most people think they’re a myth, but—but we’re very real.”

“We?” Thom likes the sound of that even less, especially with the way Caleb’s mouth draws up tight as he says the words.

“The Volstrucker are an organization of mages and spies that answer to a single member of the Cerberus Assembly. The selection and training process is brutal.” Caleb scratches at his forearm, but if there’s anything there, it’s hidden by the sleeve of his cloak. “If Zada recognized me, I would be expected to return home as a failure.”

Thom’s stomach turns and he doesn’t dare ask what would happen to him. “Surely these Volstrucker know you’re dead by now.”

“Resurrection magic is more common in Exandria,” Caleb says quietly. “It would not be difficult for a Volstrucker to find a cleric to bring me back, as long as they’re able to find my body.”

Thom desperately wants to poke at that—how much more common—but it doesn’t seem like the right time. “They won’t be able to find you in Trebond. It’s remote and we rarely ever get visitors. You’ll be safe there while you figure out what you want to do next.

Caleb nods, but his expression only grows more solemn.

***

Clouds heavy with rain and wind sweep in from the east as evening sets in. There’s still a couple hours before nightfall when the rain begins.

“I know a spell that creates a little dome to keep out the elements, as well as anyone you don’t want,” Caleb says as they get the horses settled under the protection of a hardy tree.

Even though the words are conversational, Thom can hear the bitter edge to Caleb’s voice and the unspoken “If only I could cast it.” He doesn’t say anything as he heads for a raised patch of land that will hopefully stay dry underneath their tent.

It is truly ridiculous he can raise the dead, but a tent is the best he can do for sleeping arrangements.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” Thom says as he ducks inside and spreads out his bedroll. Maybe he should turn his attention toward a spell that voids the need for sleep.

Caleb climbs in after him and occupies his own bedroll without hesitation. “It’s fine.”

Thom stares at the canvas ceiling, his boots kicked off and nothing else. It isn’t all that different in here from a tiny room at an inn.

They aren’t sharing an actual bed or anything—the thought of that sends an odd shiver down Thom’s spine.

No, there’s plenty of space between them. In this dark, confined tent. The air warming from their body heat alone. Caleb so close Thom could reach across the ground and touch him.

If he wanted to. Or needed to.

He isn’t sure why he would, unless perhaps Caleb has another nightmare.

Caleb rolls onto his side and lets out a long exhale. Thom swears he can feel the brush of air against his ear. Another shiver follows the first.

Thom forces his eyes closed, first listening to the patter of the rain and then listing the magical uses of vervain.

It’s no use. Sleep isn’t coming.

He can’t relax with Caleb so close. He’d like to believe it’s because Caleb is a danger, but there’s no hint of anxiety in his restlessness.

“Are you sleeping?” Caleb whispers and even the low tone is a shock in the dark.

Thom nearly jumps out of his skin, making it impossible to pretend he didn’t hear. “Not yet.”

“Tre—The leader of the Volstrucker doesn’t like losing his people. If Zada’s here, chances are she’s on a mission to find me.”

“Do you have scrying magic in Exandria?”

“Yes.” Caleb pauses, his thoughts rolling around behind his eyes. “As long as they believe I’m dead, they won’t try to use it. If they find my grave and it’s empty, however…”

Thom swallows hard. He knows the theory of scrying magic well enough. He’s done it a time or two just to prove he can, but he doesn’t how to ward against it—and he definitely doesn’t know if it would be different with Exandrian magic. “If they do scry on you, will they know where you are?”

“Not unless they can recognize the place. At home, we had amulets to block scrying magic, but Ik—our leader didn’t want me to bring one. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on my progress.”

There’s a wall in Caleb’s voice but even Thom can see through it to the truth—this man, whoever he is, wanted to be able to spy on Caleb. Maybe to prevent exactly what’s happening with him now.

“There’s no way they’ll be able to recognize Trebond,” Thom says delicately. “Most Tortallans wouldn’t be able to at a glimpse. At the very least, that should buy us time.”

“You’re certain?” Caleb’s legs shift, one of his boots knocking into Thom’s shin.

“Trust me, we’re not a popular estate.” It was true in Thom’s father’s day and Thom’s done nothing to encourage visitors since his death. “And, if all else fails, there’s always hiding in the mountains.”

Caleb wrinkles his nose, but he relaxes a bit more into his bedroll. Thom wishes more than anything he could place a hand on Caleb’s arm in comfort and promise he doesn’t have to return to his prior life if he doesn’t want to.

If only that were the kind of vow he should be making. Instead, he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

Caleb nods, kindly not pointing out that was a question.

“How’d you end up involved with Duke Roger in the first place?”

Caleb fidgets, his boot tapping against Thom’s knee this time. “He made a deal with the Volstrucker for our help. I was chosen to see it through.”

It sounds so simple, like Caleb was a hostler hired to work at the palace and not a foreign agent of treason. “What were you expecting in return?”

“I don’t know.” Caleb pauses and Thom doesn’t dare wonder if he’s searching through his own memories or concocting a lie. “There were rumors of information regarding a legendary Tortallan artifact.”

Thom frowns, struggling to imagine what Roger thought he had to trade to a nation whose magical abilities far outstripped their own. Assuming, of course, Roger wasn’t simply lying. “Did you believe in Roger?”

Caleb huffs a laugh. “It was a job.”

“No, then.”

“No,” Caleb agrees, his face half-nestled in his bedroll. “I met Duke Roger only once before his death. I can’t say I believe he would’ve made a good king.”

Thom pauses as the rain outside falls harder. “He watched my sister and I when we were younger. He thought we’d grow up to be threats.”

“And did you?”

“Well, my sister killed him.”

Another laugh, richer this time. “Sounds like he was right to be concerned. Is there a reason we’re keeping each other awake?”

“I don’t know.” Caleb’s foot moves away from Thom’s leg and there’s no way he regrets the loss of contact. Even with the distant rumble of thunder, it feels too quiet and too stuffy inside the tent.

“Tell me about your sister,” Caleb says, his voice hushed.

“Alanna,” Thom says, even though this is the opposite of falling asleep. “Growing up, she wanted to be a knight and I wanted to be the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. We’re twins and, when we were old enough, my father arranged for me to be sent to the palace, her to the convent.”

“Is a convent like a temple?”

“More or less.” It’s too late for him to attempt an explanation of the implications of teaching girls to be ladies. “We switched places. I convinced the masters there’d been a mistake and I was to be taught magic. Alanna disguised herself as a boy—”

“Women aren’t allowed to be knights here?” Caleb interrupts with surprise, his body stiffening on the other side of the tent.

“Not traditionally.” Thom’s never felt as awkward about it as he does right now. The reasons why seem trivial in light of his sister’s duel with Duke Roger. “Is that not the case in Exandria?”

“Not at all.”

Thom pauses, but it seems a waste to leave the story unfinished. “Alanna disguised herself as a boy and won her knighthood. Everyone knows, now, but the wheels of progress turn slowly.”

“Sounds to me like both your dreams came true.”

Thom smiles softly in the wake of that. “I think you might be right.”

***

The silver lining of the overnight rain is it knocks down the worst of the dust as they pick the road back up in the morning.

A light fog promises a crisp day. The surrounding woods are quiet, even the birds seeming to be having a lie-in. A fox peeks at them from between the trees before disappearing. Water drips from the trees, pattering against the underbrush.

“We aren’t alone,” Caleb says, speaking Thom’s own unsettled feelings into the air. Hallow tosses her head and Thom calms her with a stroke of her neck.

There’s nothing for it but to keep going and find out what’s waiting for them.

A rustle of leaves ahead heralds the danger. Thom has only a moment to prepare before six bandits emerge from the trees. Their hoods are up to disguise their faces and their baggy clothes could be hiding any number of weapons.

“We don’t want any trouble!” Thom calls, trying to channel Alanna’s royal authority into his voice. Magic crackles in his fingertips.

Four bandits burst into flames before his eyes. Heat rocks over him in a thick wave and Hallow squeals, skittering to the side. The bandits’ screams are going to haunt Thom’s nightmares.

The remaining two turn tail and run, possibly the only intelligent decision they’ve made this week. Caleb wheels Jannik to face them.

Thom inhales, nearly choking on the too-hot air, and fights for control of Hallow even as he shouts, “Let them go!”

It’s already too late.

A hiss. Another blast of heat. A fireball cutting through the air.

The bandits don’t make it a half-dozen yards before they fall into charred husks, leaving Thom, Caleb, and their horses in devastating silence.

Thom’s vision wavers, exhaustion tugging at his body like he’s the one that just killed six people and not Caleb—who shouldn’t have been able to do that.

“How…” Thom trails off as he turns Hallow to look at Caleb. Purple flames lick up his arms, the exact shade of his own Gift.

Chapter Text

“That’s new,” Caleb says, looking down at the flames dissipating along his arms. “This is your magic, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Thom says because there’s no point in beating around the bush. There’s a strange rushing noise in his ears. “What in the name of the Graveyard Hag was that?”

“A simple spell, although I didn’t expect it to be so powerful.”

Thom clings to Hallow’s mane to keep himself from swaying. “It seems you can use magic by feeding off my Gift.”

“What does that mean?” Caleb’s eyes are only curious as he meets Thom’s gaze, but that familiar purple strikes Thom to the bone.

Thom is loathe to say it. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think we’re being tracked?” Caleb asks, dismounting Jannik and approaching the nearest corpses even though the scent coming off them is horrifying from a distance and they’re so charred Thom is hard-pressed to think of anything they might learn by studying them.

“Not likely. Bandits on this road are rare but desperate times.” Thom urges Hallow onward, skirting the road’s edge to avoid the bodies as much as possible. Jannik tries to follow them, snorting his alarm at potentially being left behind, and Caleb hurries to catch his reins.

Thom’s head spins as they carry along the road, Caleb quiet as though nothing has changed. He desperately wants to stop for the night, but they need to put distance between themselves and the bandits—and he doubts he would be able to sleep no matter how tired he feels.

Caleb can do magic. By using Thom’s gift as though it’s his own. Even though, before his death, he didn’t even need a Gift.

Is it a side effect of the ritual? A signifier of their connection, of Thom’s responsibility to Caleb for bringing him back to life?

Thom is relatively certain he can draw on Alanna’s Gift, if needs must. Perhaps this is like that. A familial relationship for giving Caleb life—

No. Oh, no. Thom heads that thought off at the pass and throws it away.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Caleb teases, a relaxed hand on Jannik’s reins. He doesn’t look at all disturbed by the recent set of murders or the revelation about his magic. It’s unsettling, how easily he’s taking this in comparison to running into Zada yesterday.

“Thinking about how much longer it is to Trebond,” Thom lies, although he isn’t sure why. This is going to affect Caleb too, whatever it is that’s going on.

Caleb looks doubtful but seizes on the simpler subject. “And how much longer?”

“At least four days, if we make good time.”

“Odds of us running into any more trouble?” Caleb asks and Thom swears he can see an ember burning in his eyes.

“Low.” Thom is overwhelmingly grateful for that fact. He isn’t sure he can stomach another display like that. “As we get closer to Trebond and the mountains, we’re more likely to run into bears than bandits.”

“Good,” Caleb says in a tone that makes it sound unnervingly like Shame.

***

Dusk settles into a cool and comfortable night. There aren’t any signs of an inn on the horizon and Thom is in no hurry to risk Hallow tripping in a wheel rut or fox hole. They’ll have to camp out again.

“Do you think I could set up the alarm spells?” Caleb asks as Thom pitches their tent not far from the road. Between the alarm spells and the lack of traffic, there’s very little need for cover.

Thom hesitates, his eyes fixed firmly on the oil-slicked leather in his hands. It’s an innocent question on the surface, but the root is that this man can steal his Gift. Thom has no idea how to stop him—or even if that’s possible.

“Let’s see,” Thom says, whether it’s a good decision or not. He hands over the pouch of salts and walks Caleb through the circles. The drain of his magic is uncomfortable, but at least he can sit and watch Caleb handle the complicated bits.

When it’s done, the defenses are as strong as if Thom had set them himself.

It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. He should probably be concerned. Probably shouldn’t clap Caleb on the shoulder and climb into the tent to sleep alongside him.

But no one’s ever said Thom makes good decisions.

***

A boot slams into Thom’s ribs.

He rolls, reaching for his knife in the same movement, but there’s nowhere to retreat. Not without taking the entire tent down with him.

Thom forces his eyes open and, through the darkness, he registers that they’re not under attack. The boot belongs to Caleb.

And he’s still asleep.

Thom shivers as he tries not to think about what would happen if Caleb were to draw on his Gift during a nightmare. Caleb kicks out again, nearly taking out a tentpole.

“Caleb,” Thom says, his voice hushed even though it’s his intention to wake him up. “Caleb.”

Caleb whines, his hands clawing at his bedroll. Thom takes a deep breath and throws an empty waterskin at him.

Caleb jerks upright, purple flames gathering in the palms of his hands. “What—”

“You were having a nightmare.” Thom readies himself to deal with the fire if it goes out of control as he wonders if it would be more accurate to call it a flashback. “I was worried you might take the tent down.”

“Sorry.” Caleb extinguishes the fire with a flick of his fingers and drops back into his bedroll. “Shit. Sorry.”

“There are spells to help you sleep, if you want to try them.”

Horror scrawls itself across Caleb’s wide eyes and tense jaw. He drapes one arm over his eyes, leaving a trail of scars visible even in the low light. The lines are too clean, created with clearly methodical precision.

“It was just a suggestion,” Thom says, tearing his eyes away from the brutal evidence of Caleb’s past and stretching back out. “I won’t make it again.”

Thom doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He doubts Caleb does either.

***

While Caleb breaks camp, Thom wipes himself clean with a rag dipped in a nearby stream. He catches Caleb staring, gaze fixed somewhere above Thom’s navel.

Thom looks down to find a mottled bruise in the rough shape of Caleb’s boot.

“How did you know?” Caleb asks, still staring, before Thom can reassure him that it’s fine. It looks worse than it is.

“Know what?”

Caleb’s eyes drift from Thom’s chest to his face. “That I wouldn’t kill you the moment you brought me back to life.”

“Oh.” Thom pauses, wringing out the rag. “I suppose I didn’t.”

“You didn’t even consider the possibility, did you?” Caleb asks with a laugh that sounds wrung out of his lungs.

“Not really.” It’s true, he’d had a theory and the resolve to see it through. The potential aftermath hadn’t gone into his calculations.

A sardonic smile plays at the corners of Caleb’s mouth as he looks away. “You’re really something, Thom, you know that?”

“My sister is always telling me that,” Thom replies, unable to help himself from smiling back.

Even here, on the road somewhere between Trebond and Port Caynn, it feels right to be standing here with Caleb. He doesn’t have a plan, not beyond getting to Trebond and bribing the servants into silence, but he isn’t sure he needs one.

They’re going to be fine. He’ll make sure of it.

***

The northern road to Trebond is a long one, with more deer and squirrels than people for company. Thom shares the occasional wave with a passing farmer or hunter, but they don’t have any more run-ins with bandits.

The days are quiet. The nights, to Thom’s continued chagrin, are not.

Caleb wakes him with nightmares more often than not, sometimes multiple times a night. There’s only one instance that results in bruises—the night Caleb reaches across the tent and clings to his wrist so tight there’s a dark ring in the morning—but the sleep deprivation is almost worse.

Inns are non-existent, but on one chilly night Thom pays a farmer for use of his barn. Jannik and Hallow each get their own stall with a third for Thom and Caleb.

It’s dusty and smells of goats, but Thom still parts with more copper than it’s worth for the sake of four walls and a steady roof. Trebond is only a couple days’ ride if they can continue to make good time.

Despite the meager comforts, Caleb wakes screaming with tears pouring down his face. Bits of straw tangle in his hair and clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, blinking until he can see Thom sitting on the other side of the stall, locked in place by his own indecision. If Caleb summons fire in here, it could be catastrophic.

Thom’s farther away than usual, since they aren’t restrained by the size of their tent. He rolls to his knees, hands out in a clear surrender. “It isn’t your fault.”

“You can go back to sleep.” Caleb’s shirt is soaked through with sweat. Red lines the rough width of his own nails run down both arms. “I’ll keep watch for the rest of the night.”

Thom ignores that—Hallow’s more than sufficient at keeping watch—and keeps moving closer until Caleb tenses and curls up into a ball. Thom sits down on a straw bale. “You have nightmares a lot.”

It isn’t a question. Caleb says, “Yes” anyway.

Thom waits in silence, straw poking through his trousers. He watches Caleb’s breathing settle and enough of the tension melt away that Caleb uncurls himself.

“Trent Ikithon,” Caleb says, speaking for the first time after anywhere from a few minutes to an hour. “He’s the head of the Volstrucker and a member of the Cerberus Assembly.”

“Is that your ruling council?” Thom asks because he’s never had much interest in international politics. Or, to be fair, his own nation’s politics.

“That would be King Dwendal but the Cerberus Assembly serves as his advisors. Ikithon—I gave up everything for him.”

Thom struggles to imagine looking so broken while talking about any of the masters or even Duke Roger. His eyes linger on Caleb’s scars and he feels like he already knows the answer before he asks, “Are your nightmares about your death?”

Caleb shakes his head slowly, both hands trembling until he shoves them underneath his thighs. “No.”

It’s one word, deceptively simple, but somehow Thom can still hear everything that Caleb isn’t saying. No, because there are worse things in his life to wake screaming about.

Thom stretches his leg out, one foot coming within an inch or two of Caleb’s ankle. “Do you regret coming here to Tortall?”

“Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I never had a choice.” Caleb bumps his leg against Thom’s foot. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch the rest of the night.”

Thom wants to ignore him and stay right here, ask the rest of his long list of questions, but he drags himself from the bale and back to his bedroll. He watches Caleb prop himself up against the stall wall, even though they’re safe and cozy in this barn with little to watch for.

Thom closes his eyes, but his mind refuses to rest, turning over the little he’s witnessed and the little Caleb’s told him. It’s written all over Caleb’s being that this Ikithon is a man to fear—and it seems his people, his Volstrucker, are as well considering Caleb’s reaction to Zada. Thom should probably feel some hesitation over being in close quarters with Caleb after that—especially considering the tether to his Gift—but he doesn’t.

Alanna would have a lot to say about that, if she were here. Caleb’s past. Thom’s Gift. Caleb’s complete lack of hesitation before he burned seven people to death.

None of it makes sleep come any easier. There’s only two more days to Trebond—and whatever is to come next.

Chapter Text

The air grows colder as they reach the foothills south of Trebond. Deer the size of horses bound across the road and a wolf pack howls far in the distance.

“If we’re going to be sharing a Gift,” Thom says when he can’t hold it in any longer, “perhaps I should teach you accordingly.”

Caleb blinks away the sleepless haze over his eyes. “Like with the alarm spells?”

“Not exactly.” Thom tries not to shiver as he remembers the scent of burnt corpse on the breeze. “What magic did you use on the bandits?”

“Fireball. Do you not have that?”

“There’s fire magic,” Thom hedges, “but I’ve never seen it behave like that. I have a theory that you can use your magic but power it with my Gift. When we’re children, we have to be trained to control ourselves to avoid accidents.”

“I know how to control myself just fine.” The shake in Caleb’s voice doesn’t make it at all convincing. Jannik tosses his head, protesting the white-knuckled grip on his reins.

“Your magic, until recently, operated under very different principles than mine.” Thom keeps his tone as gentle as possible, hoping that an academic approach might calm Caleb’s nerves. “For safety’s sake, I should teach you the basics.”

Caleb’s so pale Thom worries he might faint right out of the saddle. “You’re afraid I might hurt you.”

“No,” Thom says, and it’s the truth even though he’s insane for it. He should be afraid of what Caleb’s capable of doing with his Gift, even if it isn’t intentional. In a worst case scenario, it’s his childhood nightmare come to life. “It’s—the Gift isn’t meant to be shared between more than one person. I don’t know what will happen if we both try to draw too much at the same time.”

Thom has an idea, theoretically speaking, but nothing concrete. If anyone’s ever attempted it before, he hasn’t stumbled on their writings.

“You are afraid I might hurt you.”

“Not intentionally. We’re in uncharted territory here, academically speaking. We need to study to know what we’re dealing with.”

Caleb’s lips quirk up and Thom congratulates himself on finally landing on the correct thing to say. Of course it would be treating this like an experiment. “Okay,” Caleb says. “Where do you suggest we start?”

They pass the day’s uneventful travel with small and harmless magics. Purple sparks in Caleb’s hands. Little gusts of wind. Thom tries to explain the process of meditation, but astride a horse is a level of difficulty neither of them is ready for.

When Thom is confident Caleb understands the basics, they try casting together. It’s like nothing Thom has felt since he parted ways with Alanna. Like their magic is so in tune Caleb knows what he’s going to do almost before Thom himself does.

Thom can’t stop grinning as they stop to camp for the night. He covers his delight with the news that they’ll arrive in Trebond tomorrow.

“I doubt the library will be much use,” Thom says, laughing as Hallow wiggles her lips as he rubs her down, “but there’s no harm in checking. I’ve never had the time to delve into all of my father’s collection.”

“You didn’t?” Caleb teases, picking up the pouches for the wards without Thom having to ask. “I would’ve thought you’d spend every waking moment in there, stealing the more illicit volumes to read under your covers.”

Thom coughs out a laugh, leaving Hallow to deal with the tent. “I would have, but Alanna was the more adventurous sort. Father was always watching and he would’ve noticed if any of the books vanished.”

“We’ll have to give it a thorough search, then,” Caleb says and Thom likes the sound of that we a little too much.

***

Trebond looks precisely the same as it did when Thom left it behind as they crest a hill and his former home spreads out before them. He’d only had thoughts for the City of the Gods back then. It feels strange to be returning now, especially without Alanna at his side.

“This is it,” Thom says as they cross the estate’s boundaries and the whispers pick up. Everyone will know of his return by sundown, he’s sure of it.

“Lord Thom!” Maude’s shouts herald her arrival before she comes into sight. She looks precisely the same as she does in Thom’s memory, if with a few more lines on her face and a touch more gray in her hair.

“Maude,” Thom says with genuine warmth. He’ll never be able to forget that she’s the reason he and Alanna were able to switch places so he could pursue his calling in the City of the Gods. “It is good to see you.”

Maude’s hands land on her hips as her initial surprise fades away. “Were we expecting you, my lord?”

“If you’re worrying about the manor, don’t be,” Thom says, determined to head off her worries at the pass even though he knows it’s pointless. “If I wanted the house made up for my arrival, I would’ve sent ahead a letter.”

“Even so, you should’ve given us a warning. Particularly if we’re meant to be hosting guests.” Maude gives a pointed glance in Caleb’s direction.

“Don’t worry about me,” Caleb says with ease and Thom has to give Maude credit for not reacting to either his obviously foreign accent or a set of purple eyes she’s only witnessed on the twins. “After such a long time on the road, any roof will be a welcome one.”

“Of—of course,” Maude stammers out and her gaze holds a million questions as she turns to look at Thom.

“This is Caleb Widogast,” Thom steps in. “He’s a visiting scholar from Exandria, studying the magical potential of our local plant life.”

“Welcome to Trebond, Mr. Widogast,” Maude says, letting decorum cover for her confusion. Thom is glad he probably won’t have to bribe and threaten his household into secrecy over whether he’s harboring a foreign spy. It would be deeply tedious.

“We’ll settle the horses,” Thom says before Caleb has time to figure out a reply. “Can you make sure our rooms are readied? My old bedroom and whichever is nearest will be fine.”

Maude looks like she wants to protest—the master bedroom is Thom’s by right after all—but she nods before heading off to put his instructions into action.

“This is where you grew up?” Caleb asks once they’re alone, except for Hallow and Jannik.

“Surprised?” Thom raises an eyebrow before swinging to the ground. The stables are to the outskirts of the estate and rather lonely at this point. They keep a couple of carthorses for staff use, but otherwise they don’t have much need for horses. Thom has Hallow and Alanna has Moonlight.

“A little.” Caleb gives him a once-over before he dismounts. “You don’t look like a noble.”

Thom runs up his stirrups and loosens the girth even though there’s probably a groom around here to handle that. “I don’t consider myself one. I’m a sorcerer and a scholar first, a noble by unfortunate circumstance.”

“You don’t like it here?” Caleb glances around their surroundings as he does the same with Jannik. Trebond isn’t anything particularly special, especially with Corus and Port Caynn so recent in their memories, but it is a peaceful place. The grounds are clean and the mountains an ever-present shield from the worst of the northern winds.

“It isn’t that. Every room in this house contains another reminder of my father’s disappointment that I couldn’t be the son he wanted.”

“Surely he would be proud of you?”

Thom can’t help the hollow laugh rising at the very thought. “If he hadn’t died of his own accord, finding out Alanna is a famous knight and I’m an infamous sorcerer would’ve done it.”

Caleb’s silent but Thom can see the ghosts in his eyes. “What about your mother?”

“She died in childbirth. There’s no way of knowing what she would’ve thought about any of this.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“Only my twin sister, Alanna.”

“Ah. The knight.”

“That’s her.” Thom cleans Hallow’s face with a soft cloth and leaves her to a flake of hay and clean stall. “Do you have family waiting for you back in Exandria?”

Caleb goes several shades paler before he shakes his head. “No one,” he croaks. “Volstrucker act alone without attachments.”

His voice reminds Thom of student mages reciting their lessons in dusty classrooms. He thinks again of Caleb’s distress at the very sight of one of his fellows, his nightmares, his obvious terror of being tracked down by this Ikithon. All pieces of a puzzle he isn’t sure he wants to put together.

“Come on,” Thom says for lack of anything better. “Let me give you a tour.”

***

Thom tries to think of Trebond as any old estate as he shows Caleb around the stable and grounds. They aren’t much to speak of—at least by the standards of the gardens in Corus—but they’re well-kept and the roses at least seem to be thriving.

They retreat inside once they’ve exhausted the outdoors. Thom wishes he knew more about Trebond’s history if only to fill the silence as he shows off more rooms than he’ll ever know what to do with.

Bedrooms, parlors, drawing rooms, studies—all a waste of space that could be filled by books, considering they’re too far in the country to receive most guests. Thom only breathes easily when he pushes open a door and introduces the room with, “This is the library.”

It’s everything he remembers from the floor to ceiling shelves laden with books to the smell of old parchment to the ready supplies of ink jars and quills. If he opens a drawer in the corner desk, he might still find his notes in his childish handwriting.

Caleb wanders over to the shelves as if drawn to them by magic.

Thom can relate. Even he has no idea what mysteries some of these tomes hold and he feels almost giddy with the idea that he’s finally free to find out.

Without speaking, Caleb and Thom split up to peruse the shelves on opposite ends of the room. Thom expects it’ll take all night for them to meet in the middle, but the household doesn’t give him time to find out.

Only an hour or two have passed before Thom hears the door creak open and a mousy girl enters in simple servant dress. She can’t be a day older than eighteen and she wrings her hands in front of her as though mortified to have been sent to greet the master of the house.

If Thom were a better man, he’d have the patience to take a moment to reassure her she has nothing to fear in him.

“Yes?” Thom says, looking up from a journal of local crop yields. It’s duller than his former masters’ lectures, but he is curious as to why the crop of strawberries tripled one summer a decade earlier.

“Maude sent me, my lord,” the girl says, continuing to fidget. “I’m Gwynne. Gwynne Summers. I’ve been—it doesn’t matter. Maude asked me to say dinner is nearly ready and you may want to wash up before you dine.”

“We’ll be right down,” Thom says, hoping his tone is reassuring at least. “I assume Maude is having dinner served in the main dining hall?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And she won’t be convinced to have it served here or the nearest study?”

Thom’s rewarded with the slightest upturn of Gwynne’s lips. “Unlikely, my lord.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Once Gwynne’s gone, Thom sighs as he returns the ledger to its shelf. “Suggesting we wash up was a polite way of saying we smell awful.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bath,” Caleb says, holding up hands still streaked with dirt. “I wouldn’t want to get the books dirty.”

Thom doesn’t protest, leading Caleb away from the library and back to their rooms. He bathes quickly even though a part of him would rather revel in the access to properly hot water and soap smelling faintly of pine needles. He doesn’t want to leave Caleb alone for long, though, at least until he’s had time to settle in.

Despite his hurry, Thom leaves his rooms to find Caleb already waiting in the hallway. He looks—

Mithros.

It’s more a comparison than an oath because a scrubbed clean Caleb looks like the sun. His hair is still damp where it hangs in curls bound by a leather tie. His eyes are a pair of polished amethysts and his cheeks are specked with freckles. He’s wearing a simple pair of breeches and a loose-fitting shirt, hastily altered so they aren’t entirely the wrong size.

Thom’s heart wiggles in his chest and the heat in his face has nothing to do with his recent bath.

“Shall we?” Thom asks when what he wants is to drag Caleb into his room and kiss him breathless. He’s had inklings of attraction before, but nothing like this desire that seems to be burning him from the inside out.

Caleb’s smile is soft and a little shy. Thom hopes his thoughts aren’t written all over his own face. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The massive oak table in the proper dining room is far too large for two. Thom twitters over taking his father’s place at the head of the table before he chooses a seat on the corner at the far opposite end.

Caleb’s mouth twists slightly before he sits down. He looks almost like a war general preparing for a council before the bowls of butternut squash soup are placed and he looks like Caleb again.

Thom shares what little he can remember of the Trebond estate’s history—mainly that the town sprung up around a lumber operation—as they work their way through the soup, lean cuts of lamb, and a dessert of currant jelly.

Caleb says little as he cleans each plate like he’s never seen food before. It’s enough to make Thom feel grateful that they’re no longer on the road.

Caleb casts a few longing glances in the direction of the library, but he nods when Thom suggests they retire for the night once they’ve finished their meal.

“We’ll have most of the day tomorrow to spend in the library,” Thom promises, hesitating to add aloud that they’ll have as many days as Caleb wants after that.

Thom settles into his old rooms even though the space doesn’t feel like his anymore. He hasn’t lived here in years—didn’t plan on returning here at all—but everything is still the same as he remembers. His shelves are still covered in dust, the servants respecting his old wish that his notes not be disturbed.

The silence is a prickly thing as he sits on the end of his bed. He should welcome the chance for actual privacy, but it only makes him wonder what Caleb is doing right now.

Thom raises a hand, watching purple light pool in his palm. It’s well past time for him to think about next moves and this solitude—away from Caleb—is what he needs to do that.

He snuffs out the light and sits unmoving in the relative darkness of the faint moonlight. His curtains whisper in a soft breeze through the open window.

Teaching Caleb how to meditate and control his magic was a good first step, but the connection between them is still a risk. One he won’t be able to avoid forever.

There might be a ritual to shield his Gift from the influence of outsiders. If there isn’t, he’s certain he could invent one. Without understanding the tie between him and Caleb, there’s no telling what the side effects of such a ritual might be.

Thom doesn’t want to consider what might happen if it’s his Gift keeping Caleb alive. It isn’t a chance he’s willing to take.

If breaking the connection isn’t possible, perhaps he can consider some kind of limit to keep Caleb from draining his Gift. Not that he knows what that would look like in theory or practice. There’d only be one way to confirm it worked.

Thom sets the idea aside for later consideration.

It would likely be a good idea to write to Alanna. Let her know what he’s done and that he’s in Trebond. If the worst should happen, there’s a chance Caleb could drain her Gift as well, without even knowing it was happening. Although, she doesn’t need to know if Thom refuses to allow that to happen.

He’s sure Alanna has more than enough to worry about even without knowing her exact whereabouts.

Thom sighs before moving from the bed to his favorite armchair. He’s cocooned in blankets, thinking as he stares at the wall, when the screaming starts.

It’s so familiar by now his heart only jolts for a moment before he untangles himself from the blankets and starts for the hall.

He’s glad the servants are in another wing entirely as he finds the hallway empty. Caleb isn’t screaming anymore, but Thom doesn’t turn around. He pauses and weighs startling Caleb by knocking versus startling Caleb by opening the door without warning.

He opens the door.

Light and heat bursts in Thom’s face as a fireball shoots directly at him. He side-steps, waving a hand through it so it dissipates into ash before it can cause damage.

“Fuck,” Caleb gasps.

Thom blinks the spots from his vision to find Caleb still in bed. The air is filled with the tang of sweat. Caleb’s hair is an absolute rat’s nest of tangled curls in such disarray Thom is amazed he can even see.

“It’s only me,” Thom says even as he checks to make sure his eyebrows haven’t been singed off.

“Fuck.” Caleb kicks his legs until the sheets fall off a bed. He lets out a long string of words in a language Thom doesn’t recognize, although he can guess he’s cursing by tone. Then: “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Thom steps far enough into the room he’s able to close the door. It’s unlikely anyone will wander into this wing in the middle of the night, but there’s no need to court attention.

“It isn’t fine. I could’ve killed you!”

“I shouldn’t have scared you by barging in.” Thom takes a slow step forward, bringing his hands up loose and open to show he’s unarmed. Not that he’s ever truly unarmed, but he hopes it’s the thought that counts.

Caleb sits up, hunching over his bent knees. He’s shirtless, skin gleaming with sweat in the meager light. Thom is struck with the incredibly inappropriate urge to nudge his thighs apart and kneel between them. “This is your home and I could’ve killed you.”

“It would take more than one little ball of fire to kill me.” Thom pauses, torn between taking a seat on the chair beside the bed or on the bed itself.

He recalls sleeping in a tent with Caleb a finger’s brush away and sits on the bed.

Caleb doesn’t move as Thom watches the blood drain slowly from his face. “You have no sense of self-preservation.”

“Not true,” Thom says, even though it probably is. He’s never been very good at taking care of himself. He isn’t sure if it’s luck or Alanna that deserves more credit for keeping him alive all this time.

Caleb waves a hand, wreathing the ceiling in globes of purple flames. They light up the whole room, but there’s no heat and the dusty nooks and crannies don’t catch. Thom feels the drain on his Gift with a startled thump of his heart, but he doesn’t try to stop it.

“I could drain you dry,” Caleb says and it’s only the horror in his voice that keeps Thom from fighting back. “I’m your worst nightmare. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

It’s a good question. One Thom has asked himself every day since he realized the connection between them runs deeper than Caleb’s new eye color. He shouldn’t be okay with this. He should be down in the library, searching for answers on how to reverse this particular side effect of the resurrection.

“I trust you not to hurt me,” Thom says at last.

“Like I said.” Caleb rises from beneath his covers and leans close enough Thom can see a drop of sweat run down his throat and pool in the dip of his collarbone. “No self-preservation.”

Thom only has time to inhale before Caleb is kissing him.

A strange thing—kissing. Thom doesn’t have the slightest idea what to do with his hands, or his mouth for that matter.

Caleb’s hand lands on his cheek, coaxing his head into a better angle. Their mouths slot together and, suddenly, a lot of things make more sense. Particularly, why so many of his peers were obsessed with kissing, and talking about kissing, and figuring out how to kiss more often.

Caleb doesn’t taste like much of anything, but this close up he smells like pine soap and ash. His hair brushes Thom’s neck and tickles his collarbone. His lips are softer than Thom expects and gentler.

Caleb’s tongue is warm and wet as it traces Thom’s bottom lip, sending a strange blast of heat through his midsection. He’d think he might just have been hit by another fireball if he didn’t know better.

Caleb withdraws and Thom’s tongue chases after him on instinct. He needs more, needs to know what it feels like to press his body up against Caleb’s. He runs his tongue over the roof of Caleb’s mouth, devouring the way he shudders.

Caleb’s moan is a vibration against his mouth. Thom rests one hand against Caleb’s throat, waiting to feel it again. He’s the most powerful sorcerer in Tortall and yet somehow that knowledge pales in comparison to the strength he feels here in Caleb’s bed.

“Oh,” Thom says when the need to breathe overcomes his urge to keep kissing Caleb forever. He doesn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together and inhaling the warm smell of Caleb’s hair.

Caleb’s smile is a curve against his cheek. “Oh?”

“Oh.” Thom doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words. His brain is—for once—quiet, although he’s sure he’ll have plenty to think about for the rest of the night and possibly also eternity.

“You’ve never done this before,” Caleb says, soft and reverent. It isn’t a question so Thom doesn’t force himself to respond. “Come here.”

Caleb takes Thom by the shoulder and guides him down on top of him. Thom feels like he’s too heavy, like his limbs are too ungainly, but Caleb sighs as their chests press together. He still has no idea what to do with his hands, but it doesn’t seem to matter with Caleb looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Caleb,” Thom whispers and even though he has no idea what he’s asking for, it seems Caleb does. Caleb cups Thom’s cheek and guides him down into a kiss. It’s soft and slow, like a dance, and Thom thinks if the entire world outside this room stopped existing, he might not even notice.

The passage of time is a trivial thing as Thom learns to explore with hands and mouths. Caleb’s hands never move below his waist and, for that, he’s grateful. His body is thrumming with a want he’s never experienced before and he isn’t sure he’s ready to know what it’s like to find that burning satisfied.

Instead, he studies. He learns Caleb’s skin tastes like salt and he gasps when Thom presses his teeth against the hinge of his jaw. He learns his own nipples are wildly sensitive when Caleb sucks one into his mouth and he almost screams. It’s unexpected as he’s never given them much thought before.

There isn’t an end point so much as a gentle settling. Caleb’s kisses get lazier and his hands stroke Thom’s back in random patterns rather than moving with intent.

Thom should let Caleb get back to sleep. He has no idea how close to dawn it is, but then here at Trebond it doesn’t particularly matter if they sleep until noon. He tries to find a place on the bed to brace his knees where he won’t hurt Caleb.

Caleb catches his wrist before Thom can get far. They’re tangled up together, the sheets nowhere to be found. “Will you stay? It turns out I sleep worse alone.”

Thom’s heart seizes in his chest as he kisses Caleb’s forehead. It’s a terrible idea—probably dangerous—but they’ve been sharing a tent for days. A bed isn’t so different. “Okay.”

It takes a bit of arranging to return the sheets to relative order and get comfortable on a bed not meant to suit more than one person. It’s enough to make Thom regret not choosing Caleb’s room himself, not that he would’ve known this would be a problem.

Thom might be the smaller of the two of them, but when Caleb curls up on his side, Thom doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around him. His hands find Caleb’s waist, their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces.

Thom closes his eyes, mind racing too much for sleep. Caleb doesn’t wake from any more nightmares for the rest of the night.