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There is something incredibly flattering about the thought that one of the most gifted mages Caleb has ever known has found one of Caleb’s own spells worth figuring out for himself.
Essek turns from the arcane doorway shimmering in blues and violets before him with the smug appearance of the cat that got the cream. “I did some noodling, as you call it.”
“So you did,” Caleb says faintly.
Essek snorts. “You sound surprised that I was successful.”
“Not surprised at all. Your mind is an amazing thing—I’m simply appreciating it all over again.”
“You have not even seen what is inside yet,” Essek says, amused. He gestures toward the doorway. “Shall we?”
When Caleb steps through, what he finds takes his breath away.
In his own version of the spell, the entrance leads directly into the tower. But here, he finds himself in an open field, the grass waving softly in the gentle breeze. The sky is lit in the oranges and pinks of dawn, the sun just about to tip over the edge into morning. Three towers stand before them, sheltered by an enormous tree, golden lights hanging from its boughs.
Affection swells in Caleb's chest. “Just like the Xhorhaus.”
Essek inclines his head. He has not looked away from Caleb since they first stepped inside the demiplane. “There is more to see. But I will leave you to freshen up first.”
Essek leaves him at the door of his tower. Caleb dearly wants to take his time to explore every nook and cranny that Essek has made for him, but he doesn’t want to keep Essek waiting too long. There will be plenty of time for him to look around later. A few details catch Caleb’s eye: a beautifully illuminated copy of Der Katzenprinz on the table in the sitting room, the plush texture of the carpet in his bedchambers, the Zemnian-style arches of the high ceilings.
The bathroom is luxurious, the vanity table covered with more soaps and perfumes and lotions than Caleb knows what to do with. There is a small basket by the tastefully gilded tub that he recognizes from the Xhorhaus, intended for dirty laundry. He strips and drops his clothes into it before he gets into the tub, which is already standing filled with hot water for him. He scrubs himself clean and shaves carefully, combing his hair back into a neat bun at the base of his nape.
The clothes that Essek has set out for Caleb are hanging before a full-length mirror. A thin silk undershirt, a long-sleeved, high-collared tunic in a rich shade of deep blue, with delicate twining embroidery along its neckline—the constellations of the Dynasty.
There are black trousers and boots to match, a pair of gloves in a velvet box with the same celestial stitching along the inner lining of the cuffs. The golden buttons on the gloves are shaped like cat paws, which makes Caleb smile. Last, a coat in dark violet, cut like the one Caleb had once worn in Rosohna long ago.
Caleb surveys himself in the mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He looks very fine indeed. The heat rises to his cheeks at the thought of Essek preparing this for him. Essek, who always takes such pains with his appearance, putting that same care into an outfit for Caleb, the embroidered celestial motif on his cuffs matching Essek’s exactly—
No, Caleb is quick to remind himself, stopping that thought firmly in its tracks. Surely, this is just a gesture of friendship, the same that Caleb would give to any of the Nein when he constructs his own tower.
He is content with what they have. Whatever Essek is willing to give him is more than enough.
Caleb finds Essek waiting for him outside. The sun is still on the cusp of rising, the sky a riot of color. But as spectacular as it is, Caleb can’t seem to stop staring at Essek.
He’s still wearing a dark cloak, but it is pushed over his shoulders instead of obscuring his entire body from view the way it normally does. Like this, Caleb can appreciate the sharp cut of his fine shirt, the way the silk outlines the contours of his body—ah, this is rude. Caleb hastily lifts his eyes to Essek’s instead and immediately realizes he’s made a mistake, because Essek has gone and lined his lashes with a striking flick of silver that only makes his eyes twice as captivating as usual.
Caleb swallows, trying not to completely lose his grip on his sanity. Essek makes heads turn on his worst days. But on his best days? A single glance is enough to make Caleb blush like a lovelorn teenager.
He clears his throat. “Herr Thelyss,” he says, bowing formally in the Kryn fashion: bend from the waist, right hand over the heart.
Essek mirrors the gesture. His face is stern, but his eyes are dancing. “Was your tower to your liking?”
“I would say yes, but that would be a terrible understatement.”
“Flatterer,” Essek chides, but he’s laughing. He offers his arm to Caleb. “Come.”
The moment Essek ushers him inside the center tower, the tallest of the three, an enormous moorbounder leaps at Caleb and nearly knocks him over. He laughs and gives it a good scratch behind the ears.
“Moorbounders,” Caleb says, still chuckling. A second one joins the first—they gambol about the antechamber like two oversized kittens with tusks. “I would not have expected it of you, Herr Thelyss.”
“There are many things about me that would surprise you, Caleb Widogast,” Essek says, amused. He removes his heavy mantle and drapes it carefully across the curve of one sharp tusk. Caleb obliges the moorbounder waiting next to him by hanging his coat on one tusk, his woolen scarf on the other. When Caleb looks around, Essek is already in the center of the room, his head tilted up.
“Forgive me,” he says, “I had grown rather fond of the central mechanism in your tower, you see—”
And had incorporated it into his own? That is high praise indeed. Caleb grabs his hand without waiting for him to finish, too delighted for words. “Up,” he says immediately, and they float to the next floor hand in hand.
Essek is laughing. “I had intended to act as guide tonight, but if you prefer to explore, by all means.”
On the second floor is what is clearly a high-end dining room, the likes of which Caleb has never seen before. The walls are lined with dark wood that he recognizes as vermaloc, from when the Nein had lived in Rosohna. Small tables are spaced far apart, giving each one a measure of privacy without sacrificing decorum. An elaborate display of lights of delicately welded steel and glass hangs from the ceiling. It almost seems as though the dining room is lit by stars.
“Oh,” Caleb says.
“Too much?”
Caleb glances at Essek, surprised out of his wonder by Essek’s anxious voice. “No, not at all,” he hastens to reassure. “It is beautiful, Essek.”
“Ah, that is a relief,” he says, the furrow in his brow easing a little. “I know my tastes can be—what was Beauregard’s word for it?—swanky. And if this is not to your liking—”
“I love it,” Caleb interrupts. “Don’t you dare change a thing, Thelyss.”
Essek’s eyes crinkle around the corners. “As you wish.”
Caleb knows it’s nothing but an illusion, but there is something immensely flattering about walking into the dining room on the arm of such a handsome man. The low murmur of voices falls into a hush when they enter, approving glances thrown in their direction from all sides.
“We are attracting quite a lot of attention here,” Caleb says.
“It’s not every day an Empire human steps into a Dynasty dining room looking like the most eligible bachelor in Rosohna,” Essek says, and immediately bites his lip. “I, ah. I—”
“Flatterer,” Caleb echoes, laughing. Surely Essek meant nothing by it. It was a joke. Nothing more. “Besides, you and I both know that title would suit you much better.”
Essek smiles, small and secretive. “We will have to agree to disagree, then.”
The food, when it arrives, is delicious—a steaming hot stew of mushrooms, served on a bed of rice black as squid ink. A colorful plate of stir fried vegetables that has Caleb’s mouth watering. He makes a mental note to recreate it for Caduceus to taste the next chance he gets to cast the tower for the Nein. There are small fried rolls filled with meat, the flavor brightened by something sharp and bright that Caleb can’t seem to identify, with several dipping sauces in varying degrees of heat.
Caleb immediately decides to disregard Essek’s warning for him to stick with what’s been served to him, and proceeds to taste every last one of the sauces Essek is refusing to share. Essek dissolves into helpless laughter when the last one, a thick dark green paste, sets Caleb’s mouth on fire.
Eventually, Essek takes pity on him and signals to the nearest moorbounder. A tankard of a deliciously crisp beer is placed on the table—Caleb drains it in a single quaff and signals for another.
“I told you it would be too much,” Essek says, still chuckling. “For the record, beer is not usually drunk in places like these, but you seemed to be suffering.”
“Ah, thank you. It is one thing to know something in theory, and another altogether to experience the results firsthand,” Caleb says, unrepentant even as he wipes his streaming eyes. The embarrassment is worth it, if he gets to see Essek laugh this much.
Dessert is a light custard drizzled with caramel sauce, which does wonders to cool Caleb’s tongue. He and Essek linger for some time as the starlight above their heads dims slightly.
“This was a lovely meal,” Caleb says. “Even if I was in a great deal of pain in the middle of it.”
“That was no one’s fault but your own,” Essek reproves, but his eyes are brightened by humor and the lilac wine he’s been sipping the whole evening. “But I am glad the food was to your liking.”
“Some of your favorite dishes, I imagine.”
Essek nods. “I thought you might like them as well. We used to eat them often at home. Before I left for the Conservatory.”
Oh. That is… incredibly touching.
“I appreciate the meal even more now, knowing that,” Caleb says softly. “Thank you.”
“It is of no consequence,” Essek says, but he smiles down at the last bite of his custard before he puts it in his mouth.
It is so endearing that Caleb leans across the table before he can dissolve entirely into a puddle of helpless yearning. “I believe I am still owed a tour, Herr Thelyss.”
“I suppose you are,” Essek says, letting out a theatrical sigh Jester would have been proud of. “Come, then.”
The next two floors of the tower hold a library so sprawling that Caleb thinks he might need a map to navigate through it the first time. The warm green lights brighten wherever he walks, a thoughtfulness he is grateful for. Its interior reminds Caleb of the Marble Tomes Conservatory, with the same faint scent of old books filling his lungs with every inhale.
“Do not expect much,” Essek says when Caleb takes a book randomly from a shelf. It is filled with elven script, unreadable to Caleb without casting a spell. “I do not have your memory, but at least I can assure you it will be a passable read.”
Caleb shakes his head. “You think so little of yourself. Your mind is astounding. I’ve always thought so, you know I have.”
“Hm.” Essek turns away. “I will tell you there is a lone copy of Tusk Love somewhere among these shelves, if you would care to hunt for it later.”
Caleb laughs aloud. “I knew you read the book Jester gave you.”
“Of course I did,” Essek returns, his lips twitching with amusement. “I would have never known peace otherwise.”
On the fourth floor, there is a laboratory so well appointed that Caleb wants to go through every inch of it with a fine-toothed comb. A section is closed off with a fascinating arcane barrier for the more practical aspects of magical experimentation. Some of the equipment in it is unfamiliar to him, though he thinks he recognizes a few of the delicate silver instruments from Essek’s old towers in Rosohna.
Caleb draws in a breath, lets it out slowly. “You have thought of everything, my friend.”
“Hardly. I hope to continue refining it in the future—if there is anything not to your liking, or you wish to have adjusted for next time, please let me know.”
Next time. It makes Caleb smile to think that Essek might cast this tower for him again someday. “I cannot imagine anything more wonderful than this.”
“There is more,” Essek says, ducking his head. “If, ah. If you would like to see.”
Of course Caleb does. They float up to the next floor, and to Caleb’s surprise, he finds himself in what seems to be a vast, well-manicured garden. But here, unlike the eternal dusk outside Essek’s towers, the sky is lit only by Catha, Ruidus hidden in its shadow, and a truly spectacular array of stars. It is so captivating that for a long moment, Caleb can only stare, at a loss for words.
“Where are we?”
A single pale blue dancing light appears, just illuminating the path before them. “Come and see. Be careful not to trip—the bricks are quite loose in places.”
Caleb tucks his hand into the crook of Essek’s proffered elbow and lets him lead them down the path. It’s not long before they take a sharp right into a smaller walkway. Essek was right to warn him to be careful—the longer they walk, the more precarious the bricks get.
The path ends in a small terrace, the tiles worn with age. They sit down on a cracked stone bench, side by side.
“This is very clandestine of you, Herr Thelyss,” Caleb says. “Is something scandalous about to happen?”
A small huff of laughter is all he gets. More dancing lights wink into view with a wave of Essek’s hand.
Now Caleb can see that this part of the garden has an enormous trellis overhead, nearly obscured from sight by the vines that have crept over it. The vine above their heads is dotted with tightly furled white buds.
“Night-blooming tessai only bloom once a year,” Essek says.
“Tessai,” Caleb repeats. “A flower from Rosohna?”
Essek nods. “Not many people know the umavi… ah, my mother. She loved flowers. The grounds of the main estate were extensive, but there were sections of it that were reserved for her special care. Including this one.”
Oh. Essek has recreated the grounds of den Thelyss’s main estate in the Firmaments.
For a moment, Caleb is almost too surprised to speak. But then he thinks of the loose bricks and the worn tiles of the path they had taken to get here. “But no longer?”
“No.” Essek hesitates. His next words are halting, as though he has never spoken them aloud. “I never did find out why. This was her favorite garden of all—she would even hold parties for guests on the evenings the vine flowered. But after that, only Verin and I would come here and watch the tessai bloom. When we were younger, at least.”
“And yet they flourished all the same?”
“Yes.” Essek smiles, soft and uncertain. “I may have had a hand in that, for a time.”
Caleb moves closer, just enough so their shoulders are brushing. “I did not know you had a green thumb.”
Essek’s nose wrinkles. It is—there is no other word for it—adorable. “Such a strange Empire phrase. But yes, I suppose so.”
“Will the tessai bloom tonight, then?”
“Yes. Any moment now.”
The pale blue lights brighten as the two of them sit in companionable silence. The revelation of where they are and what they are about to see is deeply, almost painfully intimate, far more so than anything Essek has ever revealed of himself to Caleb. Caleb sneaks a look at Essek out of the corner of his eye and sees that his features have settled into something resembling serenity.
When the buds unfurl at last, Caleb is surprised to see that the petals were concealing a heart of deep, vibrant purple.
“Beautiful,” Caleb breathes.
Essek lets out a long exhale. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
He gets to his feet and resumes his customary hover, offering his arm to Caleb once more.
Essek says nothing else as they leave the garden. Something about the silence is fragile as spun glass, and Caleb is loath to break it. He cannot imagine that it must have been easy for Essek to show him. But despite that, something about Essek seems more tranquil somehow, as though some of the tension he always carries has gone out of his shoulders.
The dawn is still holding by the time they find themselves back outside.
“I regret I do not have more to show you, my friend, but it is still a work in progress,” Essek says with a rueful smile.
Caleb looks at Essek and realizes quite suddenly that he does not want this to end just yet.
“Forgive my curiosity, but I would love to see your tower,” he says. “If you would permit me.”
Essek stiffens, his face going blank. For a moment, Caleb fears he has made an irreparable overstep, but Essek only says, “If you want.”
Caleb hesitates. “If you would rather not—”
“No. Of course you are welcome,” Essek says at once. “It is more of…. well, it is not much to look at.”
“What might be ordinary to you is a thing of wonder to me.”
Essek smiles a little at that, though there is something rather like melancholy still lingering about the corners of his mouth. “Very well. Come, then.”
Caleb’s not sure what he was expecting to find in Essek’s tower. Perhaps something similar to his towers in Rosohna, with its sleek, fashionable interiors. Instead, Caleb is surprised to find himself in a room that is shockingly humble compared to the tower’s impressive exterior—a virtual duplicate of Essek’s sitting room in Eiselcross. The walls are built of stone, a blazing fire keeping the room toasty warm. Caleb is certain that if he looks out the window, he will see the firepit that had served as refuge for the soldiers who had stood vigil in the snow in Essek’s time at the Dynasty outpost.
Essek ducks his head. “I told you,” he says to his steepled fingers. “With your impeccable memory, I cannot imagine you do not know where we are.”
“It is your tower to do with as you please. If this is where you are most comfortable, then that is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Caleb says quietly.
Essek makes an attempt at his usual soft smile. “It was not easy, you understand,” he says, still not lifting his eyes. “The solitude gave me a lot of time to think about what I had done. About what I had to do. It was terrible, some days.”
“But there was solace in it.”
“I suppose there must have been.”
Caleb only realizes that Essek has dropped his levitation when he takes a few steps toward the fireplace, staring at the flames. “There, away from the court and my den… well, I suppose when I was no longer occupied with being the eldest blood-child of a ruling den’s umavi and the youngest Shadowhand of Her Brilliance’s court, I found there was not much to look at beneath all that.”
“Essek. You are too hard on yourself.”
He shakes his head. The firelight makes the shadows dance on his face. “There was not much, that is true. But it was me. Do you see what I mean, Caleb Widogast?”
The sudden, sharp ache in Caleb’s chest is half affection, half sorrow. “I do.”
“Anyway.” Essek makes a visible effort to pull a smile back on his face, though he’s still not quite meeting Caleb’s eyes. “My chambers upstairs will amuse you, I think. Would you like to see it?”
“Please.”
There is no central invisible pillar in this tower, only a set of narrow wooden stairs that take them directly into Essek’s bedroom. Caleb is surprised to see there are two sets of beds here, one on either side of the room. But there are also two desks, one significantly messier than the other, stacked with books nearly a foot high and strewn with paper. One row of shelves is somewhat bent in the middle with the weight of all the books placed on it, the other is a much more tidy display of what looks like a variety of awards.
There are two portraits on the wall next to each other—one is clearly a much younger Essek, round-cheeked and smiling in the way that brings out a dimple in his right cheek. He has a long braid down one shoulder. The other portrait is a boy who looks very much like Essek, except his eyes are red as rubies, and he is noticeably broader in shoulder. His long hair falls in soft waves about his face.
“You may laugh,” Essek says.
Caleb is overcome with so much affection that he wants to sweep Essek up in his arms and hug him as tightly as he can. But that would upset Essek’s dignity, so he restrains himself.
“You are a surprise at every turn, Herr Thelyss.”
“I did warn you.” Essek smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “There is one more floor which will surprise you the most, I think. I hope you are not tired of the stairs.”
Caleb notices he hesitates just for a split second at the foot of the narrow staircase. But he says nothing, only continues on. The next floor has a carved wooden door that is by far the most ornate thing in this tower that Caleb has seen.
“Come,” Essek says without turning.
There is a hush as the door shuts behind them with a quiet click. It is nothing but an antechamber, but the marble floor is inlaid with a symbol Caleb recognizes.
A beacon.
There is a large golden basin filled with water next to the great stone doors. Caleb glances at Essek, wondering if this is part of some ritual he must be careful to imitate correctly, but Essek pays it no mind whatsoever. He opens the doors without preamble and strides inside.
Caleb follows cautiously behind. He finds himself in an enormous hall—he flinches at how bright the light emanating from the high ceiling is. When his eyes adjust, he realizes the room is ten-sided, all great marble columns and bare walls, completely empty but for a series of cushions upholstered in violet spaced evenly on the ground.
Essek unceremoniously picks up a cushion and deposits it closer to a second one lying a few feet away. He kneels on one, and gestures toward the other. Caleb gets on his knees—ah, he is feeling every minute of his thirty-three years these days—and folds his hands in his lap like Essek.
Caleb squints at the ceiling. Through the harsh white glow, he can just make out the shape of a beacon etched in the stone. He glances to his right and sees that Essek has his eyes closed.
“You must be wondering what we are doing here,” Essek says in a perfectly normal voice, as though they are not sitting in what is obviously the holiest of chambers dedicated to the Luxon.
It seems rude to speak louder than a murmur. “Yes. It… it’s very bright.”
“It is. I used to think it was intended to hurt. I suppose, in a way, I was not wrong.” Essek’s head turns slightly in Caleb’s direction. “Well? Are you surprised?”
“I am.”
Essek smiles, beatific in the Luxon’s light. “I was blinded by my faith once upon a time. And even when I finally saw my zealotry for what it was, I realized… well. Some things are harder than others to leave behind, no matter how much you might wish for it to be otherwise.” Essek opens his eyes and turns his face toward the ceiling, but it is too much for him. He has to shield his eyes with one hand. The light spills through his fingers, leaving behind lines of shadow across his face. “That was the most difficult lesson for me to learn, I think—to sit with my sins instead of simply closing my eyes.”
“And then to learn to carry them with grace, after that.” Caleb says quietly. “I know what you mean.”
“I know you do. You know it even better than I do, I think.”
Caleb watches Essek out of the corner of his eye. It is so unlike him to be this forthcoming. It makes Caleb wonder—what purpose is this chamber intended to serve? Confession, perhaps, or penance? Both he and Essek know by now that seeking absolution is an exercise in futility. But self-castigation is not the way through, either.
He murmurs an incantation. Darkness envelops them for a moment before tiny lights blink into view. Soon, every inch of the temple from floor to ceiling is blotted out by swirling galaxies and glittering stars.
Essek exhales, staring down at the floor for a long moment. When he touches it with an uncertain hand, the illusion shimmers under his touch, rippling like water. His eyes widen with wonder, before he glances up at Caleb, a question clear on his face.
Caleb clears his throat. “I have told you of my old master, ja?” He waits for Essek to nod before he continues. “Whether I like it or not, he played a hand in making me who I am now. And I don’t just mean my training. I suppose, ah. He saw what we could become when everyone else looked down on us for being poor farm children from a tiny village in Blumenthal that no one had ever even heard of.”
“He took advantage of you,” Essek says flatly.
“Those truths are not mutually exclusive.”
Essek subsides. “As you say.”
“Loathsome as he was, I do think he cared for us in his own way. Loved us, even—if a man like that could be capable of love, at least, I think that was the closest he ever came to it. Which is to say, the things we did, the things that happened to us, they are never in black and white. It would be so much easier if they were, but that is not the case.” Caleb waves at the dazzling array of stars. “I know it is a bitter pill to swallow, in a way. To know that not all of it was bad. But it wasn’t.”
Essek’s mouth quivers before he presses them tightly together, but his eyes have softened. “I suppose it was not,” he murmurs. To Caleb’s surprise, Essek reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together. “This evening was meant to be for you. I did not mean to make it about myself.”
“It is a gift that you have shared so much of yourself with me. I do not take it lightly in any way.”
Essek opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he tries again. “I, ah. What I mean to say is.” His hand tightens around Caleb’s. “I would be happy to share all this with you. And more. I want to.” Essek lets out a breath through his teeth. “Ah, this is so difficult.”
Oh.
Caleb squeezes his hand. Waits. Hope is filling him so quickly that the sensation is closer to pain than joy.
“You must know,” Essek murmurs. Not even the starlight can conceal how hard he is blushing. “I have not made a secret of how I feel about you, Caleb Widogast. But Jester said it would be better if I made myself clear. So.” He takes a breath. Then another. “I would like to be with you, in whatever shape or form you might wish for that to be. I want to… to stay with you. To be by your side. If that is something you—”
“Yes,” Caleb interrupts. His chest is so tight with affection he thinks he might start weeping if he isn’t careful. “I feel the same. Essek, I know it was—is—very complicated for us, but I would like that very much.”
For a long moment, Essek just stares at him, his throat working.
Then he breaks into a smile so wide that it lights up his whole face. He has so many dimples. Gods above, Caleb is done for. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, no,” Essek says. His hand passes over his eyes. “I am, ah. Relieved. No, that is not it,” he corrects himself. “The better word is overjoyed, I think.”
Caleb wholeheartedly agrees. He tugs Essek closer and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I can do this?”
“Yes.”
He presses his forehead against Essek’s. The silver lining his eyes is gleaming in the starlight. “And this?”
“Yes,” Essek says. When he glances up at Caleb through his lashes, Caleb nearly passes out. He lets Caleb tip their faces closer together, until Caleb can feel his breath brushing against his cheek.
“And this?” Caleb murmurs. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from Essek’s mouth.
“Yes. Anything.” Essek laughs. His fingers find Caleb’s lapels and clutch hard, as though he’s trying to regain his balance. “But, ah. You will have to be patient. These things… they do not come easily to me.”
Caleb slips his hand beneath Essek’s elbow, steadying him. “I will take whatever you will give me and be grateful for it, Thelyss.”
Essek swallows hard. Takes a breath. “I would give you all of me, if you wanted it,” he says, so quietly that Caleb almost misses it. Then he leans in.
It’s very brief, as kisses go.
But all the same, when he pulls away, Caleb can no longer remember how to make words. But Essek can’t seem to look at him either, so maybe it’s fine. They can be embarrassed together. It will be alright. The certainty of it crashes into Caleb with the force of a tidal wave.
Essek laughs, breathless. “I, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
He twists his fingers in the gesture to open his wristpocket, and out of its depths comes a little box. To Caleb’s surprise, it holds a tiny black moss cupcake, barely larger than a single bite.
“Ah, Jester warned me this might happen,” Essek says, frowning at the smushed icing. “Never mind. It will still taste as good, at least.”
He sticks a thin candle into it and sets it alight with a murmured cantrip, and oh. What is it about Essek summoning fire with the magic pooled in his belly that ties Caleb’s stomach into knots?
“We do not really celebrate birthdays in the Dynasty, except for especially significant ones. A first decade or a first century, for instance. But Jester told me this is how it is done in the Empire. So, ah. Happy birthday,” Essek finishes.
There it is again, the twinge in Caleb’s chest. Happiness so intense that he can no longer tell what separates it from grief. He blows out the candle and plucks it from the icing. It is very hard to find something to wish for at a time like this, when his heart is full to bursting. Instead, he takes the cupcake and shoves it into Essek’s mouth.
He makes a muffled noise of horrified protest, covering his lips with his gloved hand. “That was for you!”
“You like those cupcakes,” Caleb says.
The glare Essek directs at Caleb is significantly less effective with his cheeks puffed out with cupcake. “And?”
“And I wanted you to have it.”
There is a small smudge of icing right on the corner of Essek’s mouth. It’s unfair how fetching it is. Essek notices him staring and frowns. He lifts his hand, fingers already moving in the somatics for prestidigitation, but Caleb catches his hand and holds it fast.
“Here, let me,” he says.
The icing is just how Caleb remembers it—just this side of bittersweet, earthy and fragrant on his tongue.
His impertinence earns him a startled slap on the chest, but it’s absolutely worth it. When Essek smiles, it's like watching the sky break into dawn.