Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.
They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearneās blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorianās ear. Orymās head rested on Dorianās bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorianās thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearneās fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he shouldāve been fast asleep.
But Orymās mind buzzed.
Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orymās skin burned where it met Dorianās.
He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.
Admitting it didnāt change it.
Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orymās hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.
āMy family will find your brother,ā he murmured finally, and Dorianās breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singerās breathing. It was so slight that no one else couldāve noticed it, but Orym noticed. āYou said thereās a bodyā the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestlyāā
āI know,ā Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym couldāve heard. āI know,ā he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.
āDo you thinkā¦ do you think any of Opal is still in there?ā
āI donāt know. I could barely tell what was in thereāā he cut himself off. āI couldnāt even help my brother. I think Fyāra Rai mightāveā¦ she mustāve seen something. I hope so,ā he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didnāt fully manage. āThe Spider Queen doesnāt deserve her. She doesnāt deserve anything.ā
Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadnāt cared what the gods did or didnāt deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorianās edges. It didnāt frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. āIām so sorry about Opal,ā he said, after the silence had lingered. āBut Iām,ā he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, āIām real glad it wasnāt you.ā
Dorianās laugh matched his own. āI suppose that is a silver lining.ā
āIām so glad youāre here,ā Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. āIāve thought about seeing you again so many timesā I wish the circumstances were betterāā
āIām here,ā Dorian said, for the second time today. āThe circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, butā Iām here.ā
Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearneās grasp and raised his hand to Dorianās cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldnāt bring himself to attribute his friendās insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.
He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorianās eyes? He couldnāt tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.
Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.
He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.
He shouldāve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadnāt gone by that he hadnāt thought of him. He didnāt speak at all as Dorianās hand wrapped around Orymās, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.
āOrym,ā Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. āFearne, are you braiding my hair?ā
Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorianās ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but heād been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearneās wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorianās hair into a loose braid.
āJust pretend Iām not here,ā she whispered quickly. āIām totally not here.ā
When Orym dropped his head back to Dorianās arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.
āJust like old times, eh?ā he said, but his hand was still around Orymās.
Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorianās ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. āNo,ā he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorianās chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. āBut I think thatās okay.ā
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