Chapter Text
On the nights the ghosts visited him, Wylan didn't wake up the following morning. There was no transition, no moving from one world to the next, no disorientation. No, none of that for Wylan Van Eck. Images, growing clearer with the morning light, replaced the smears of memory that filled his sleep.
Seeing a thing was different from knowing it existed. Seeing the solidity of his life brought a heavy, cold feeling to his belly. It was real.
The things that came to him when he slept, they had been real, too. It wasn't like sleeping. It was like taking a stroll through time and catapulting back to the present, never granted the escape of dreaming.
Useless!
Wylan slept on the side of the bed nearer the washroom and closet, with Jesper nearer the windows, sleeping soundly behind him, snoring. He claimed he didn't snore, a claim to which Wylan had once replied without thinking, Jesper, you've never slept with yourself , and Jesper nearly laughed himself sick. Wylan had blushed, but laughed, too.
On good mornings, when he woke up to Jesper's arm around him, Wylan was happy. Sometimes he stayed that way. Other times, like today, it frightened him. This moment was only a moment. The next one would change. Time moved once more in its steady linear fashion.
And you trust Wylan Van Eck?
Wylan wanted to lie here, beside Jesper, for the rest of his life.
Wylan never wanted to lie here again. How could something so wonderful be so fragile? How could anyone survive if something so deep inside them shattered?
He squeezed Jesper's hand, then slipped away from him. Jesper was warm and he liked contact--he needed contact. It didn't matter how they went to sleep. Wylan often woke hugged up in Jesper's arms. And on good days, it was everything in the world Wylan never thought to dream of. Today, the cold morning felt better. It was real. The cold slid under his nightshirt and ripped the air out of his lungs. Wylan shivered as he dressed. Trousers first, buttoned under his nightshirt to limit exposure. He gasped when he removed his nightshirt, shaking into his undershirt, fumbling the buttons on his shirt. Gray waistcoat--he looked ridiculous in gray, but he looked seven years old in black.
Last night they had been up late. Jesper was usually up late, but this time they were both awake. Wylan looked at the papers on the bedside table. There were a couple of books, too, one of those gruesome thrillers Jesper loved and a romance novel they had been reading together. Wylan imagined it had a thin layer of dust by now. Jesper read through facts and figures with him over and over…
Over and over, because Wylan still wasn't prepared.
Six months.
Six months ago, shaking from nerves but trying not to let it show, Councilman Wylan Van Eck attended his first meeting. He needn't have worried. Karl Dryden, the next-youngest Councilman, was twice his age. And to the rest, Dryden seemed rather young to hold his seat. On the rare occasions Wylan added his voice to the debate, he was usually overlooked. Tolerated, perhaps.
Wylan cleaned his teeth and combed his hair as quietly as he could. He had let his hair grow and now wore it tied at the nape of his neck. A few curls always broke free, but Wylan didn't mind. It was a hairstyle he had always liked, even though a man keeping his hair so long was horrifically old-fashioned. He never would have had the courage to do without Jesper encouraging him.
He picked up his shoes and started for the bedroom door, walking softly as he could. He had to do better. It was why Jesper was drawing away from him, he knew it was. Why would someone like Jesper Fahey--someone so clever, so talented, so absolutely beautiful--waste his time with a milksop aye vote? Wylan had to do better for Kerch, and he had to do better for Jesper.
"You're leaving me like that? Not even saying goodbye?"
Wylan set down his shoes. He went to sit on the edge of the bed, scooping up Jesper's hand in his. Jesper had amazing hands. Ghezen did not do , he did not make , but if ever he did, he would have hands like Jesper's, perfectly formed, warm, strong. Wylan knew every scar on every finger, he had spent so long studying these hands.
"I didn't want to wake you," he half-whispered.
"What could be better than waking up to your gorgeous face?"
"Mm. Sleeping until noon?"
Jesper smiled. "Close call. Did you sleep okay? You look tired."
Please, Papa.
Pathetic, useless little--
"Yeah." Wylan brought Jesper's fingers to his lips, hiding that he wasn't smiling when he knew he should. "I'll do well today. I remember what we covered last night." The Council would debate many subjects, as they always did, but top of the list was pay rises for the bodymen. It felt small enough, yet important enough, that Wylan could start having a louder voice.
"Merchers won't know what hit 'em."
Jesper sat up, abandoning the safety of warmth and heavy covers to hug Wylan. Wylan held him, and it was the best feeling in the world: the two of them together. And the worst, because he would try today. He would try. But…
"Saints, it's freezing out here," Jesper said. He drew away from Wylan and pulled the covers up around his shoulders. He had been doing that a lot lately. Drawing away from Wylan.
"If my mother's having a bad day, will you send a runner so I know to come straight home? I might stop by Alys's." It had been ages, but he was so busy, there wasn't much time for visiting.
"Of course. Now go knock their trousers off."
"Thanks, Jes, now I have to picture Hiram Schenck's undergarments."
Jesper laughed. "You were awfully quick to pick Schenck, do I need to be jealous?"
"Never." In so many ways! Wylan knew he would never stray, that even when things were less than perfect between them, he wanted no one else but Jesper.
"Good, I'd be worried if your taste in men was me and Hiram Schenck. With whom I have nothing in common, that old podge."
It was true that Jesper and Schenck were different in many ways. They were both clever and warm, though Schenck didn't have Jesper joyful spirit. Still, Wylan didn't mind working with Schenck. He was brilliant, sometimes a cutthroat at business but he had kindness too. Wylan knew he could learn a lot from Schenck.
He couldn't deny that Schenck was old, at least in the context of a romantic partner for Wylan, but, "Schenck's not so bad. My father didn't trust him, for one thing. And I've seen him give De Een Bevoorechte Fchuld to runners."
"The… Wy, it's early."
"The Favored Debt," Wylan translated, "in Old Kerch. I thought you knew, they're the best chocolatiers in the city." And thus the best in the country and probably the best in the world. Knowing Jesper had a taste for sweets and indulgence, Wylan had assumed he already knew the best chocolatier in Kerch.
"And you haven't taken me there? A man could be hurt."
Wylan laughed and pressed another kiss to Jesper's knuckles. "I'll make it up to you, but now I really must be going. Get some sleep. It's still early."
"No mourners."
"No funerals. I love you."
"You too."
Jesper curled up under the covers. Wylan picked up his shoes and left the room.
Wylan had the prettiest smile. After he left, Jesper laid awake, thinking about that--about Wylan's smile. Wylan hadn't been smiling at Jesper's jokes lately, not as much or as naturally. Maybe it was nothing, Jesper told himself. Maybe it was stress, the Council, Marya's bad spell a couple of weeks back.
Or maybe it was Jesper.
Maybe Wylan was finally running out of patience for Jesper.
Under the covers was the best place to spend a Ketterdam morning. If he had Wylan with him, Jesper would have happily stayed there. Warm. Next to Wylan. Alone, with nothing but his thoughts, he started tapping against the covers, then noticing how too-still his legs felt, stretching, needing to move--he didn't usually do it consciously. He didn't think, I'm bored, I'll tear up this piece of paper. His body acted almost on its own and the next thing he knew a page of important notes had been shredded.
Jesper groaned. He would put that back together and copy it onto a new page later. For now, he scooped the pieces into one hand and left them on the bedside table, on top of the other papers and Truth on the Sea . Wylan worked so hard. Even knowing the Merchant Council didn't share his views, respect him, or even understand what life was like for the average Kerch citizen, he brought so much to his work. Jesper read. Wylan cared .
Jesper shook his head, then went to dress and face the day.
Should he have gone back to the university?
Jesper looked through his shirts. Every color he could imagine, yes, but he wondered which one Wylan actually liked . Jesper liked all his clothes. He simply wished his boyfriend didn't. You look beautiful in everything was nice when Wylan said it, but now meant Jesper couldn't pick something as a quiet way of saying, I was thinking about you .
Maybe with this debate over, they'd have time for another chapter of Truth on the Sea . The goofy book told the story of a low-ranking Ravkan noblewoman on a voyage, falling in love with a sailor. Wylan loved those romances. And Jesper loved adding in descriptions of the sailor's almost-unbearable handsomeness, just to make Wylan laugh and tell him to read it properly and look at him like he put the stars in the sky.
They had been too busy with work for fun reading lately.
No--Jesper hadn't been too busy. He hadn't been busy at all.
Wylan wanted him to go back to the university. He kept saying he wanted Jesper to "think about it", which obviously meant he wanted Jesper to do it, so Jesper had promised that he would. He said that university might be a good idea.
And then Wylan asked what courses Jesper was interested in. What was Jesper supposed to say? The truth? I don't know. Why bother? It'll be a disaster like it was last time. So he made something up. Wylan must have known Jesper was bluffing--he really was a miserable card player--because he kept asking questions about it until the registration deadline passed. Jesper knew Wylan was angry with him, because he had apologized, and why would Wylan claim responsibility for Jesper's studies if not to remind Jesper that he was failing, and that by failing he was hurting Wylan?
Saints, even the thought made Jesper shudder right down to his blue and yellow striped socks. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Wylan.
Second-to-last thing, Jesper supposed, since he hated disappointing Wylan. But having to face his father and admit he had withdrawn from university twice…
"Good morning, Marya."
Jesper found her in the parlor, knitting needles in hand and wrapped with yarn the bright-sky blue of Wylan's eyes. She looked healthy. She had put on weight since coming home and the color had returned to her face. Her hair kept its gray streaks even as it grew out. The biggest change was her awareness. She usually knew Wylan, usually recognized her surroundings.
He waited a moment, anticipating.
"Good morning, Jesper."
A breath.
She usually remembered her home and her son, but on a bad morning, she looked at Jesper and asked, who are you? On a middling morning, she said, you're Wylan's friend , asking for confirmation.
"Come join me," she said, waving him over. "Wylan's not here, he sneaks out early sometimes. I know, he's all grown up, he doesn't need his mother."
Jesper smiled and joined her on the settee. "He probably wanted to avoid the--fuss."
He caught himself before mentioning how heated things had become last time. They were not even consulted, the Council's older members simply decided the bodymen's appeals would not be discussed. Stones had been thrown and though Wylan had only been nicked by one, the added worry wouldn't do any good to Marya.
That was probably why Wylan had been sneaking out that morning. He wanted to avoid any commotion.
"What are you making there?" Jesper asked.
Her needles moved steadily. Marya didn't even look at what she was doing, still each stitch looked identical to its neighbors. The movement was halfway hypnotic.
"It's a scarf. The color brings out his eyes."
It did.
"Help yourself," she added, pointing her needles at the tray on the table.
Jesper didn't need convincing. He poured himself a cup of tea and took a scone. Scones were ridiculous, and Jesper loved them. Scones could pretend all they wanted, he knew they were just cookies for breakfast. He saw through their lies!
"I can teach you."
Jesper brought his mind back to the present. She could teach him…?
"To knit," Marya clarified. "I can teach you if you like."
His first instinct was to refuse. Why would he need to learn to knit? He didn't need to, but the skill wasn't the point. The offer was. Jesper lived with Wylan's mother, yet barely knew her. He wasn't sure if she was being polite or making the offer to get to know her son's boyfriend. Either way, the offer was clearly made earnestly--as if it had come from Wylan.
He agreed, "I could try."
After all, what else did he have to do today?
In a fine house along one of the cleaner, quieter streets in Ketterdam, white petunias grew in the window boxes. Their sweet scent tinged the air. The sun was just disappearing to the west, its last true brightness gasping through the clouds.
Jan Van Eck had waited for the unpleasantness to be completed. The crying out had been most disruptive and he caught a glimpse of the mess even as the maids in their starched aprons removed the soiled linens. The whole thing seemed a most unpleasant business.
Yet, in the golden sunset glow and a room perfumed with flowers, he found the aftermath almost… beautiful.
He laid a hand, briefly, on his pretty wife's shoulder. He was gentle: he did not wake her.
Then he went to the cradle and looked down at his newborn heir. What a mess infants caused coming into this world! Yet, in that squished red face, Jan saw such potential that he felt a smile distort his face.