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There is blood in his mouth. Everything is terribly cold.
“...did it work?”
A pair of trembling hands lift from his chest and go digging around at his neck instead, pressing hard to the soft places just below his jaw. Essek takes a breath and the blood in his mouth aspirates into his lungs, sending him into a coughing fit.
Several people seem to be shouting, though faintly. They must be quite far away. He can hardly hear them over the rushing in his ears.
“Don’t let him sit up,” Jester says, hands dropping from his pulse points to his shoulders, pushing against a movement Essek hadn’t realized he was making. “Can someone get him a cloth or something? He’s getting all bloody again.”
“Wait, fuck, why is he bleeding again?”
“Did we mess something up?”
He coughs hard and feels something come unstuck in his throat, moving in the wrong direction. Urgency gives him enough strength to fight off Jester’s hold and roll sideways, before he vomits up a stomachful of old blood and salt water.
“Oh, that looks unpleasant,” Caduceus says from somewhere far away.
“Hold his hair back,” Beauregard suggests. Essek wants to tell her it’s likely too late for that now, but someone’s already sweeping his bangs back from his forehead with long, careful fingers. The feel of it makes him shiver, and the new movement makes him cough, and—
Several people groan in sympathy.
“Seriously, did we mess something up?” Nott says, suddenly pushing her way into the crowded semicircle around Essek’s head. “I told you Caduceus should have made the offering.”
“Listen, the Traveler said he was, like, super poisoned . It’s probably just like when you and Fjord tried that really sketchy moonshine at that gnoll bar…”
The muscles of his throat contract again, but nothing else seems to want to come up. Essek clears his throat carefully and tries an equally cautious indraw of breath. “I’m fine.”
It does not sound remotely convincing, but it’s a relief to be able to try.
The same fingers card through his hair, snagging on a salt-matted curl, and Essek blinks his vision clear to find himself staring up into light blue eyes.
“Welcome back, friend,” Caleb says, under his breath, hands gentle as they cup the back of Essek’s head, shifting him to lie flat against the ground.
Essek blinks again, and a canopy of palms swim into focus overhead, providing just enough natural cover to block the worst of the sun. Beyond his feet, a white sand beach slopes down to the sea and a half-submerged shape that must have once been the Balleater.
“I will see if there are any more rags for him,” Caleb says, abruptly pushing to his feet and starting down the beach.
“Do you need more healing spells?” Nott asks, pulling Essek's focus back. “Jessie won’t be offended—”
“Okay okay okay.” Jester takes his hand, and the rush of warmth it brings makes his fingertips tingle with pins and needles. “Essek, do you want us to move you? This spot is kind of gross now.”
“Does someone,” the skin around his mouth is already growing stiff with dried blood. Essek swipes at it with his free hand without much success, “want to tell me what is going on here?”
“Oh, dude,” Beauregard says, with more surprise than Essek thinks is fair, “you died.”
Another wave rocks the Balleater, and he and the Scourger go sliding across the deck, feet slipping on wet boards. He’d dropped the hover spell early on. No point in posturing. Essek can smell burning wood, hear the deep groan of something starting to give way down in the ship’s belly. Fjord won’t keep them afloat with watershapes much longer. After that, they’ll all float just the same.
His back hits the railing, knocking the breath out of him and rocking his head on his neck, and the scourger’s scarred, burned face twists in a grin. Behind her, the ship’s deck is standing nearly vertical out of the water. Essek feels fastened in place and can’t tell if it’s simple gravity or the substance she’d rubbed into her blades when her magic began to run thin.
It’s alright. He doesn’t need to move for this.
She advances cautiously, eyes wary where they peek through her salt-crusted blonde hair. A smart fighter. Essek recognizes skill, regardless of allegiance. But not quite so patient as she thinks. That Empire training — hit hard and and hit fast, hold nothing back. Essek prefers a longer game.
He waits until she’s lifted her dagger for another strike to raise his hand. It’s not much movement. A palm against her chest, the last of his magic flowing out and through. He pulls his fingers into a first and the Scourger’s ribcage collapses into a mess of shattered bone.
That Empire training, though. She brings the blade down into his heart on her way out.
Essek barely feels it when he hits the water.
“How long was I out?” Essek says, wetting a piece of sailcloth. The waterskin Caleb had fetched must have been sitting in the sun for hours, but he’s hardly complaining — not least because Caleb had drifted away with another mumbled excuse almost immediately after handing it over.
Too many questions. It’s unsettling to be this far behind.
“Two days,” Fjord says, and Essek nearly upends the water into his lap. “The boat was pretty fucked by the time we were done fighting. It took everything else we had just keeping her afloat.”
“Fjord’s the one who found you,” Jester says. “He was outside trying to repair a leak. You’re seriously lucky your cape thing floats.”
“Two full days?” He can feel his knuckles going white where he’s clutching the cloth, has to force himself to relax.
“Um,” Jester knits her brows. “It was night when we got attacked. So night, plus morning, plus another morning and then today. Two and a… bit?”
Luxon’s burning banner. “And who else was attacked?”
“Yeah, that’s the weird thing,” Beauregard interjects. “It was just us. The Dynasty and the Empire ships all made it home safe. I mean, obviously the Empire’s fine, but we checked in anyway, just in case—”
“A prudent course of action,” Essek says. Two days . Closer to three. By the fucking light. “And the Beacon?”
“Teleported home safely,” Fjord says. “The Bright Queen said it passed through the anti-teleportation barrier an hour after us, just like it was supposed to.”
“You spoke to the Bright Queen,” Essek says. It does not come out as a question.
“Oh,” Jester grins. “Don’t worry, I took care of that. I told her our ship got attacked and you were totally okay but you were, like, really super tired and out of spells so you asked me to send a message for you.”
Luxon’s burning fucking balls . “And you told her this two days ago ?”
“Yeah, but I told her you were going to stay and help us get our crew back to shore, and you would be really busy and wouldn’t have time to talk, so you’d call her instead when we were ready to go back to Rosohna. It’s totally fine.”
“Jester was very convincing,” Fjord says quickly.
“I already knew you were dead, and I was convinced.”
“Thank you, Yasha.”
“Besides, what’s she gonna do? Get mad at you for dying?” Beauregard narrows her eyes at him. “Wait, is she gonna get mad at you for dying?”
“So no one else was attacked,” Essek says, taking another sip of water and a moment to regret his decision to experiment with companionship by befriending a highly trained member of a rival intelligence service.
“Like I said, weird.” Beauregard gives him a look. Not so much a question dodged as postponed, then. “Actually, not that weird. It’s not like we don’t know this is all because of Caleb’s creepy fucking teacher dude, right?”
He can tell she regrets it almost as soon as it’s said. Yet another question.
“What did you tell the Bright Queen about the Scourger attack?”
“We kind of said it was pirates,” Jester says. “It seemed less…”
“Likely to fuck everything up again.”
“Yeah, that one,” Fjord says. “Thanks Beau.”
“Probably for the best,” Essek says. It’s something. How much of something he’ll see when he makes it home. They have the Beacon back and the ceasefire still holds, in the Dynasty’s eyes at least. He might be able to accomplish something yet. “Do the rest of you wish to teleport back to Rosohna with me?”
It’s a perfectly normal question. Six looks of pure horror are a little much.
“You might want to give it a few days before doing anything complicated,” Caduceus says. “Magic like this, it takes a toll.”
“Seriously, I just healed you, you can’t kill yourself teleporting into a wall,” Jester says.
“A teleportation circle, then.”
“We sent the crew to Nicodranus before waking you up,” Fjord says. “I think Caleb’s tapped for the day.”
“I can also cast the spell,” Essek says, trying and failing to keep the impatience out of his voice.
“Listen man, if you wanna get out of here, go for it,” Beauregard says, cutting off several protests with an upraised hand. “The nearest rock big enough for you to drawn on is about a mile that way. You gonna walk there, or float?”
“Essek,” Nott says, tentatively, “can we ask you a question?”
Essek looks up from the leaf he has been methodically shredding for the past ten minutes. Above him, Nott shifts her weight awkwardly in the sand. Jester trails a few paces behind her.
“It’s not as though I’m going anywhere, is it?” That is unkind. There is nothing to be gained by snapping at friends, even if they insist on keeping unreasonable schedules. “What did you want to ask?”
“Do you... remember anything?”
“About what?”
“Were you in the new Beacon until we brought you back?” Jester asks. “I’ve been wondering about them for a while. Do you see people you know in there? I bet some of them must be pretty crowded — but I guess this new one probably doesn’t have many people in it yet? Unless there were a bunch of super old people from before it got buried?”
Essek has been wondering as much himself, not that it matters much now. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.”
“Nothing at all?” She looks disappointed. Essek can’t blame her. He’s wondered as much about the new artefact himself.
“Nothing beyond the attack.”
“Not the ritual either?” Nott says, entirely too fast.
Essek sits up straighter, and has to grit his teeth through a flare of pain. “What ritual?”
Nott suddenly seems very interested in her flask.
“Caduceus explained it,” Jester says. “If you want to bring someone back, you have to make offerings to convince the gods, or convince the person. I told the Traveler you’re pretty cool, and that if you didn’t die you would be a really great person to know since you’re powerful and kind of hot and…” she falters and looks away. “And because you need friends too.”
That’s almost as touching as it is worrying. “Thank you, Jester.”
Jester smiles. “He totally agreed with me about the hot thing, by the way.”
Essek is not sure whether to feel more or less worried than he had a moment ago. “You said offerings. Was it just the one?”
“No, you need—”
“Two offerings,” Nott cuts back in. “Just two offerings to raise the dead. And a big diamond.”
“I will replace the diamond of course,” Essek says automatically.
“That’s good, because it was worth at least five thousand gold.”
“Nott.”
“Alright, alright. Two thousand.”
“ Nott. ”
“What was the other offering?” Essek asks, pitching his voice above the growing din.
“Nott gave you some Rhino Sex,” Jester says. “Is that the one we mean?”
Essek has heard all those words spoken aloud before. The order is… new.
“It was a, uh, a vitality potion we bought in Rosohna,” Nott says. “I just sort of rubbed it around on your…”
She doesn’t elaborate further and he doesn’t press.
“And then we brought you back to life,” Jester says.
“But you don’t remember any of that.” Nott gives him a hard, searching look. “Right?”
“Not a thing.”
“Well, now you know.” She nods, as though something’s been decided and hooks an arm through Jester’s. “We’ll be going now.”
Nott's dragged her halfway down the beach when Jester glances back, expression thoughtful and strange. For no good reason, Essek finds himself thinking of Caleb’s fingers, tangled in his hair.
When he opens his eyes the sky above is black and speckled with tiny points of white. A thin, translucent barrier of magic splits the air above him, like the canopy of a tent. It is once again terribly cold.
“You’re awake.”
Essek sits up — too quickly, the throb at his temples tells him — and scrubs a hand across his face. “When did I fall asleep?
Caleb sits cross legged on the far side of his protective hut, chin cradled in his hands and eyes trained deep into the jungle. The rest of the Nein sprawl between them, jumbled together in sleep.
“A little before sunset,” Caleb’s voice is soft, almost distracted. “We figured you picked as good a spot to make camp as any.”
“You could have woken me,” Essek says without really meaning it. Ritual politeness is easier than asking what had kept Caleb so busy he’d only come back to the beach in the dark.
“The last time I saw you the night of the attack you were fighting a Scourger,” Caleb says, as though Essek has not spoken. “A blonde woman. Did you see what happened to her?”
He remembers the wet crunch of breaking ribs. The spark of life fading from the woman’s eyes. Her body gone limp even as the weight of her buried the dagger deeper into his chest. He remembers another Scourger as well, and the look on Caleb’s face when he’d first stepped into that woman’s cell in the Dungeon of Penance months before. Hope. Fear . Disappointment . Ah. That’s a few things better explained.
“We went over the side together,” Essek says. “After that, I don’t know. You didn’t find a body?”
“Only yours,” Caleb glances his way, finally, and frowns. “You’re shaking.”
He stiffens his shoulders, forcing himself still. “It’s only the cold.”
Caleb gives him another of those long, appraising looks the Nein seem to favour today, the kind that makes Essek feel pinned out for display, like an insect in a shadowbox. “Come here.”
There is just enough space against the dome wall for Essek to sit opposite him at a respectable distance. It’s Caleb who shifts forward, until their bent knees touch, and holds out his hands. A spark flares in the darkness and then a tongue of flame, just a little smaller than a torchlight, is flickering in his cupped palms. The heat of it makes the skin on Essek’s face prickle when he bends close.
“It can take a while after these sorts of things for a body to,” Caleb casts around for a word, “let’s say ‘self-regulate’ again. You’ll want to try to keep warm for a few days. And rest will help.”
“You’ve experienced this before?” Essek recalls the scars Caleb no longer bothers to do quite so good a job of hiding, considers several observations in a new context.
“Not as far as I know. A few of our number have briefly…” he doesn’t seem to want to say the word. “That was simpler. Smaller magic.”
“Not so small.”
“No, not so small.” A strand of red-gold hair has come loose from Caleb’s tie. He huffs a breath, trying to blow it away from his eyes. Essek’s does not let himself consider the possibility of brushing it back. If his fingers twitch, outstretched above the flames, it is coincidental.
He’s never sure which is more dangerous. The Nein all together, loud and chaotic, or these small pockets of silence. Both make him want to say things he shouldn’t.
“What is it?” Caleb asks, as though Essek is as easy to read as any common person, his thoughts plain on his face. Maybe he can blame being dead. At least for today.
“Have you met any clerics of Luxon?”
“None yet. Why?”
“Then I suppose no one would have told you that resurrection magic is uncommon in my home.” He watches the flame instead of Caleb’s face. No wind in the dome and no fuel to burn, and yet still the fire crackles and hisses. Essek wonders if the effect is for his benefit. “We are instructed to move always forward, towards greater perfection. Even when clerics are willing to perform such spells, they do not often have the desired effect. I have read that most consecuted souls will permanently move on after only a few hours, if within range of a Luxon Beacon. You have had a very rare success.”
Caleb straightens and the flame dances in his hands. “Do you think there is something wrong with the new Beacon?”
It is almost sweet of him, to miss the point so completely.
“I think the fault is much simpler than that,” Essek says.
“Does it bother you to be back?” Caleb sounds genuinely puzzled. “You have mentioned before that you aren’t so keen on religious worship. And there are so many things you want to accomplish. I would have thought you would want to see the future while — while staying on the track you are on now.”
There’s something about his words. Like a bell ringing somewhere deep in his mind. Have they had this conversation before?
“Essek?” Caleb asks.
“I’m grateful, of course. But it’s also quite funny.” When he closes his eyes, the flame is still there, afterimage glowing steady behind his lids. “I curse my people for forever clinging to tradition, for refusing change. But when faced with the one change they readily accept — it turns out I am quite afraid to die.”
Outside their circle of their fire, the night air is chilly as it was when he woke.
“I’ll take the next watch,” Essek says, turning until he can adopt Caleb’s earlier pose, staring into the deep jungle outside the dome wall. “You should get some sleep.”
“Essek—” Caleb touches his arm, and Essek can feel the residual heat seep through cloth and into skin. He’s warmer still, when Essek catches his hand and presses a kiss to the palm.
“Thank you, Caleb. For listening, and the rest of it as well. Truly.”
For a moment it seems like he’s going to say something else. Then Caleb nods and begins to spread out his coat on the ground. “Wake someone else when it gets close to dawn.”
Essek stares into the trees for ten peaceful minutes before it occurs to him what he’s done.
Jester’s spell isn’t like any teleportation magic he’s used before. Not least because of the robed figure Essek catches in the corner of his eye and the faint, strange voice he could swear he hears whisper hm, I see what you mean, Jester…
The sky above Rosohna is velvety black through the canopy of the Nein’s house tree. Essek can feel some of the weight on his shoulders slip, if only for a moment.
“Thank you—” he starts to say, but Jester’s already talking to the air.
“We are at the Xhorhaus and everything’s fine,” she counts off her words on raised fingers. “Did you get back okay? Oh, and can you stop by that bakery and pick up some—” She cocks her head, listening to words Essek cannot hear. “Okay, Caleb says they’re on their way!”
“No trouble at the Bastion?”
“He didn’t say anything.” Jester pats him on the arm and Essek — sometimes it still startles him, how free these people are with their contact. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be teleporting everywhere again before the Bright Queen even notices.”
Essek hopes he’s managing an optimistic smile. The brief exchange of messages with the high council before leaving the island had been… it will be an interesting few days ahead, in any respect. At least taking Jester’s alternative route will give him the opportunity to bathe before he meets anyone of importance. The Nein have been very polite, but two days as a corpse has left a certain odour Essek would prefer not to take to council chambers.
Also, it’s much easier to avoid meeting Caleb’s eyes when one of them is on the opposite side of the city.
“Will you let me know when you have figured out the next steps in your plan?” he asks.
“If you’re offering to help us come kill him…” Jester says, as though anyone has bothered to give Essek a straight answer as to who this person they talk about with such venom is.
“Not in person. But I should be able to secure a replacement for your diamond by tonight.” He manages a better smile this time. Self deprecation is easier. “Try not to need it again too soon.”
He turns towards the stairs, but Jester’s fingers tighten on his sleeve. When he looks back her eyes are round and surprisingly earnest. “You are still going to hang out with us after this, right?”
Essek wonders which would concern the high council more if it knew: A few days of being unexpectedly dead, or the impossible tenderness that rushes through him. “I would never give up access to Caduceus' cooking.”
The hug she crushes him into is enough to knock his breath from his lungs. Essek can’t say he minds. “Don’t die again while we’re gone, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.” He’s not sure quite how much pressure to exert with his arms, but she seems to like it when he gives her a gentle pat on the back. “Tell your friends I’ll see them when you return from your...” Murder seems a bit cold. “Errand.”
“Can I ask you something else?” She eases her hold, giving Essek a few moments to get used to supporting his own weight again before letting go entirely. “Since we’re extra good friends now?”
If Jester Lavorre ever wants to work as a spy, the whole continent might be in trouble. “What is it?”
“Do you like Caleb?”
Essek shoves down a sense-memory of flame warmed skin against his lips with extreme prejudice. “I like all of your friends.”
“Essek.”
“Jester.”
“Do you though?”
He could tell her. It’s not as though he has been subtle in his interest. There is no secret information here to impart. It is only that, like so much of his life since the Nein, the weight of things has shifted until what once was harmless is now dangerously close to the bone.
“It’s really not important,” Essek says, and flees to the stairs.
He’s lucky the rest of the group chooses that moment to turn up on the doorstep. It’s likely the only reason Jester doesn’t chase him into the street.
His return to the Lucid Bastion is predictably difficult. The Bright Queen is short with him. Many of the less-significant council members do not even bother to hide their whispering. His usual flotation spell gives him a headache. Worse, during a rather tense point in discussions the Skysybil leans forward in her chair and sniffs the air above Essek’s shoulder curiously. In his haste, he had layered on several colognes after washing and the effect would better be described as competitive than harmonious.
The peace still stands, though. He will take a few days of grovelling in exchange for that.
There are additional debriefings following the regular meetings. The details of the “pirate attack” on the Mighty Nein must be gone over, looking for any signs of Empire treachery. By the time he returns to the tower Essek wants nothing more than a second bath, a bottle of wine and a darkened room in which to enjoy both.
He’s hardly had time to drop the flotation spell and cast aside his mantle (which will have to be aired out), when Caleb’s voice whispers, “Essek, are you home?”
“Is something wrong?” He re-settles the mantle on his shoulders. “Has something happened to Jester?”
“What? No,” he can hear the embarrassment creep into Caleb’s voice. “The others are fine. I was hoping to speak with you, if you have time. I am sorry if I alarmed you.”
“Could it wait until morning?” he lets go of the new flotation spell he’s been holding before it can take effect and leaves the mantle over a chairback. It will wrinkle if he’s not careful. “I was not planning to leave my home again tonight.”
“That is fine. You don’t need to go anywhere,” Caleb’s accent thickens like this sometimes when he’s nervous. He’s still speaking in a hush as well. Essek wonders where he is in the haus that is that he’s so worried about being overheard by his friends. “I just wanted to tell you — I have been thinking about what you said.”
He finds a promising bottle of red in the cupboards. A simple gravity spell pops the cork. “Have you.”
Caleb is silent long enough that Essek wonders if he’s been interrupted. Or thought better of this.
“There are things I have done that are not forgivable. Sometimes I have thought it would be better of me to — stop being. But I—”
The spell cuts him off again. Essek forgoes a glass to drink straight from the bottle. “Caleb, whatever this is, you do not have to do it on my account.”
“If you think you have been cowardly, then I am glad,” he is still whispering, but it is fierce now. “I am glad we are both cowards.”
The wine is quite pleasant, though it’s possible he should have eaten something first.
“If I worried you last night I am sorry,” Essek says, and finds himself repeating Jester’s habit of counting words on fingers. “I did not wish to…” Wish to what? “Obligate you.” That hardly feels adequate. But what else can he say with four remaining words? “Where are you now?”
Caleb is quiet again. Essek wonders if he is also using his hands to plan their conversation, or if he can keep track purely in his head.
“I’m… around,” he finally says, which is such a patently ridiculous use of a spell that—
Essek pauses mid-drink. Considers the soft lilt of Caleb’s voice in his ear. He has been thoroughly unobservant tonight. There might be more than resurrection magic to blame.
The mantle is already quite badly wrinkled when he dons it for a third time. At least he won’t be going far. He hardly has to go out onto the doorstep to spot Caleb, leaned not-so-casually against a fence post and fiddling with a piece of copper wire.
“You could have knocked,” Essek says.
Caleb drops the wire.
“I was thinking of having a drink.” A discreet spell summons two glasses from a sideboard to the table where he’s been sitting. “Perhaps you should join me.”
Caleb locates his spell component and starts mutely up the walkway, face turned slightly away, even when he has to slip between Essek and the door frame. Essek leaves the mantle in a puddle of fabric on the floor. Freshening it will be a waste of time and magical energy. It’s extremely satisfying.
He looks at Caleb just in time to see him look guiltily away.
Essek pours two glasses of wine and pushes one across the table. “Drink. Sit.”
Caleb does neither.
“I’ve overstepped,” Essek says. “I should not have been so familiar. I did not — I have made things awkward. It will not happen again.”
He takes a long drink. Light guide him, he is fucking this up.
“You did nothing wrong,” Caleb is still twisting that bit of wire between his fingers. “I think I have been handling this poorly.”
Essek drops into his seat. He’s waited long enough to be polite. “Caleb, please tell me why you are here. Use small words if you could.”
Caleb sighs and sits at last, clasped hands hanging between his knees and shoulders hunched. “I thought you should know what I offered at your ritual.”
Essek sets his empty glass on the table, a little more heavily than he means to. Drinking Caleb’s untouched wine sadly remains too much of a social faux pas. “Whatever it is, the debt is more than repaid. You do not owe me—”
“Would you stop talking about obligations and debts and—” the wire goes skittering across the table as Caleb makes a frustrated gesture. “I am not here about favours. We are friends now. Anything I give to you is freely given.” He rubs a hand across his face, takes a breath and turns his eyes to Essek’s. “I am here because it scared me to see you dead. More than I expected.”
His eyes are such a pale, clear blue. Essek is more and more at sea in this conversation.
“You are—” Caleb scoots his chair around the table, legs squealing on the stones, until they’re sitting almost face to face. “You are one of the most interesting people I have met. There are so many things in you I hate about myself and yet, I don’t hate them when they are reflected back in you. I want to know you better than I do and — and I do not know what that means, but I know I want the time to find out. So that is what I tried to offer you.”
It’s there again, that ringing in his head, an echo of something not-quite remembered.
“I see a spark in you too… think of what we could do together if you came back…”
“Oh,” Essek says.
“Do you remember any of it?” Caleb leans forward. Two of his fingers are stained with ink at the nailbeds. There’s a callus on his thumb. His hand is warm and dry, where it touches Essek’s.
“Not really.” Speaking of. This moment feels so fragile, but he has to ask, “Does that mean Nott didn’t rub oil on my…?”
“No. That still happened.” Caleb sounds a little strangled and his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are turning a lovely shade of pink. “Is it any consolation, if I tell you she stayed above the beltline?”
“Possibly.”
“Good,” Caleb squeezes his hand. “I do not think there is any harm done. But if you start to experience any, ah, burning sensations…”
“You will never hear about it,”Essek finishes.
It’s the warmest he’s felt in several days, listening to Caleb laugh.
“I thought you might have known for a while there,” Caleb says eventually. “What with the, ah,” he pulls Essek’s hand to his lips, presses a kiss just below the place where his thumb and forefinger meet.
“No,” Essek says, feeling reckless and honest, “that was just something I wanted to do.”
“Right, okay. That’s. That is good.” Caleb is turning redder. But he’s still holding Essek’s hand. This is — it will complicate things. It will certainly not help his already diminished credibility. If anything, it has the potential to be quite dangerous for all involved.
But Caleb has the measure of him. He could never resist the opportunity to know more.
“So, how do you propose we use this time you’ve offered?” he asks.
“I still owe you the chance to copy our transmutation spell,” Caleb says. “Perhaps after that we could get dinner?”
“A promising line of inquiry,” Essek says. “Could I suggest another?”
He moves slowly, careful to telegraph his movements, to give Caleb time to move away. Caleb does not move, save to close his eyes just before Essek kisses him softly on the mouth.