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Once Jack had shared all he knew about warding runes, Edwin made his way up two flights of stairs and along a landing without once having to avoid magically-appearing trapdoors, buy passage through doorways with a hummed melody, or retrace his steps after inexplicably finding himself on the opposite side of the house.
Spinet might be taking pity on him, he thought, reaching the wing Violet had put him and Robin in and opening the door with a doorknob that he didn’t have to conjure into existence. If he did, he’d be reduced to knocking piteously until Robin heard him, or sitting (all right, lying) on the floor outside until either Robin emerged or Edwin’s magic returned.
Right now, he was genuinely contemplating the possibility that it might not. After what he’d done in the Barrel, he felt hollowed out, every drop of magic scraped from his veins.
And hollowed out in other ways, too. He made his way down the wing’s long, wood-panelled corridor, energy flagging with every step. Even once his magic did replenish itself, the mere thought of lifting his fingers to use it was exhausting.
In the doorway to the bedroom, he paused, wondering if lack of sleep was making him hallucinate.
‘Are you reading Mandeville?’ he asked Robin, bewildered.
Robin, fully dressed on top of the bed covers and propped against two pillows, looked up at him, snapping the large volume closed. ‘Trying,’ he said, ‘although not very successfully. The man’s rather fond of using a dozen words where one’s perfectly adequate, isn’t he?’
Edwin shut the door behind him and came over to the bed, sitting down on the mattress and reaching over to take the book gently from Robin’s hands. ‘That, and I’m not sure his ideas are worth much. I think he made a lot of it up as he went.’
‘Ah. Then I’ve drawn the right conclusions after all,’ Robin said. ‘Who knew I rivalled you for academic brilliance all along?’
He reached out for Edwin, and Edwin set Mandeville aside and lay down, letting Robin pull him into his arms.
‘Did you decide on train times?’ Edwin asked, resting his head against Robin’s chest. Lying horizontal, listening to the reassuring thud of Robin’s heartbeat, he found the heaviness of his body became more comfortable, something he wanted to settle into, his eyes drifting shut of their own accord even as his mind still raced.
‘Yes,’ Robin said. He stroked a hand absently through his hair. ‘We leave early tomorrow morning. I hope you’re prepared for a circuitous tour of East Anglia to throw Bastoke off the scent.’
‘It’ll give me time to research, I suppose.’
‘As opposed to if we went to Cheetham Hall directly, in which case I’m sure you’d spend that same time occupying yourself with something else,’ Robin teased. ‘Billiards, perhaps.’
Edwin pinched his waist. ‘I’ll do that and leave Mandeville to you, shall I?’
‘No, thank you.’ Robin shuddered. ‘I think I’ve learned my lesson.’
‘Why exactly are you boring yourself to tears with a thousand-page tome on dubiously evidenced archaic magic in the first place?’ Edwin wondered.
There was a silence in which he felt the weight of the answer before Robin said it aloud. ‘I thought I might help you.’
Edwin’s eyes flew open again. He looked sharply up at him.
Robin turned a bit pink. ‘I know I don’t understand a blasted word of this’—he waved a hand at the teetering pile of books on Edwin’s bedside table—‘but even you can’t possibly go through all of these by yourself. Unless you never sleep, which you’re giving a damned good go. I won’t allow you to run yourself into the ground if there’s anything at all I can do to make things easier.’
Edwin stared at Robin’s fierce expression in silence for a moment. Then he leaned up to kiss Robin’s mouth, soft and chaste and full of gratitude. He tilted his forehead against Robin’s and closed his eyes, feeling as though he might cry at how willing Robin was to shoulder whatever burdens Edwin was struggling under right alongside him. He pressed three more gentle, pecking kisses to Robin’s lips before drawing back to look at him.
‘You’re so wonderful,’ he said quietly. ‘I love you so much.’
Robin’s eyes were warm with affection. ‘I love you too.’
Edwin cast a pointed look towards the Mandeville book, smiling as he lay down again. ‘Evidently.’
‘Not that it’s doing much good,’ Robin sighed. ‘I don’t even know what I’m looking for.’
‘It does a world of good,’ Edwin assured him. ‘And you really don’t need to read these books for me. I wouldn’t put you through that. You help in plenty of other ways.’
‘That’s true,’ Robin agreed. ‘I’ll be in charge of fetching the tea.’
‘Restocking my note paper,’ Edwin suggested, one finger slowly tracing the embroidery on Robin’s waistcoat.
‘Preventing reshelving mishaps.’
‘Sexual favours.’
‘If I must, I must,’ Robin said solemnly.
Edwin’s mouth twitched. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
Robin’s face cracked into a smile first. ‘How about making you sleep?’ he offered. ‘I take it you’ve all you need from Hawthorn and have exhausted all possible excuses not to finally rest for a while?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Edwin sighed. He moved away from Robin enough to loosen his tie and make a start on his waistcoat buttons, delaying the moment he’d need to sit up again to undress properly. ‘Jack apologised to me,’ he confided in a low voice. He was still reeling over it.
Robin frowned. ‘For… bringing Ross here, or…?’
‘No,’ Edwin said. ‘No, he argued strongly for us to bring Ross straight back into the fold, actually.’
‘I absolutely believe the poor fellow was put in an awful predicament,’ Robin said at once. There was no longer a single trace of anger in his voice. ‘If you were looking for a slightly less biased opinion on the matter.’
Edwin shook his head. ‘I do agree with you, but Hawthorn’s good at being detached. It’s one of his best and worst qualities, depending on what you need from him.’
‘Darling,’ Robin said dryly, ‘I hate to tell you this, but Lord Hawthorn is at least half in love with Alan Ross already, and I expect all that’s stopping him from getting the rest of the way there is that he hasn’t realised that yet. If it’s detached you’re looking for, you may have to try elsewhere.’
‘Hm.’ Edwin blinked in mild surprise, pausing in his unbuttoning as he contemplated that for a moment. ‘I’d worked out they were probably involved.’
‘Those deductive skills of yours never cease to astound me.’
‘All right,’ Edwin said, flicking lightly at his shoulder. ‘I’m hardly paying a great deal of attention to Lord Hawthorn’s romantic affairs.’ After a moment, he added, ‘That was what he apologised about. The way he treated me during our… well. Less-than-romantic affair. ’
‘My God,’ Robin said. ‘That seems like it would require a degree of both soul-baring and humility. Is he ill?’
Edwin let out a small laugh, shrugging his waistcoat off the rest of the way. ‘You have to wonder, don’t you? No. No, he seemed sincere enough.’
Robin had tended diligently to a grudge against Jack for the last year, but hearing this, he looked somewhat mollified. No doubt he’d have more questions for Edwin later, to make sure the apology was up to snuff.
‘Well… good,’ he said grudgingly. ‘It’s long overdue.’
Edwin felt a brief flicker of amusement over the fact that Robin had forgiven Alan for betraying them to the lead conspirator of a plot to steal all of Britain’s magic almost instantly, but was still not quite ready to bury the hatchet with Jack for being unkind to Edwin five years ago.
‘Perhaps he should have saved it a while longer,’ he said. ‘On any other day it would be easily the most shocking development. Today it’s relegated to at least the second or third.’
Robin’s mouth flattened into a thin line. ‘Well. Technically the Barrel blew up yesterday. You’ve just barely rested since.’
Edwin sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. He suspected Robin had been putting off this conversation out of compassion for Edwin’s frazzled nerves, and Edwin hadn’t done much to hurry it along, but they couldn’t avoid talking about it forever. ‘You’re angry with me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘My attempt at testing a theory ended up accidentally pulling the seat of British magic down around our ears. I think you’re justified in being a little angry at me.’
‘I couldn’t care less about the Barrel,’ Robin told him gently. He turned properly onto his side so they were nose to nose and rested his palm against Edwin’s cheek. ‘I care about you. And I was frightened yesterday, not angry. Something was hurting you and I had no idea how to stop it.’
His voice had become thin as he spoke, and on those last words he let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob.
Edwin’s lungs felt tight. Robin was looking at him with too-bright eyes—Robin, who would move heaven and earth to protect the people he loved, who despised feeling helpless. Seeing the pain etched into every part of Robin’s handsome face, Edwin, too, could disregard the Barrel’s destruction. It paled beside what he’d put Robin through.
‘Come here,’ Edwin said softly, and put his arms around him.
It was unusual for him to feel the instinct to do so, much as he enjoyed whenever Robin held him close, which he did now, arms wrapping tightly around Edwin’s back, face buried in Edwin’s neck.
‘I’m sorry,’ Edwin whispered, hand rubbing up and down Robin’s spine. ‘I’m so sorry I scared you so much.’
Robin shook his head. ‘I’m not blaming you. Really, I’m not. You couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen.’ He sniffed hard. ‘And anyway, I’m scared all the time,’ he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
‘I know,’ Edwin whispered back, swallowing thickly. He didn’t know what else to say. He settled for pressing his face against Robin’s hair and holding him tighter. They lay there in the quiet.
This, Edwin reflected, was one of the things that was both lovely and awful about letting someone else this fully into one’s heart. Hearing about visions of his own death from any other person would be terrifying, but it was a great deal easier to set that aside for Robin’s sake, when the last thing Robin needed was for Edwin to panic. Robin made him kinder and braver than he’d ever have believed himself capable of being.
But from the moment he’d pried the truth of what the visions contained from Robin, he’d felt Robin’s fear and distress as if they were his own, and he felt helpless to prevent those feelings no matter how reassuring he tried to be or how many rowan wood rings he suggested wearing. All he could do was be here for Robin, be as real and present and alive as possible.
Eventually Robin drew a great, shuddering breath in and out, gathering himself, before he drew back to look at Edwin. ‘I’m sorry I told everyone about the visions.’
Edwin blinked. ‘Why?’
‘Well,’ Robin said, ‘it feels like it’s very much your business. I should probably have at least asked you before sharing them with everyone we know.’
‘They’re your visions.’
‘But they involve you.’
‘And I’m going to fight to stop them coming true,’ Edwin said. He gripped Robin’s shoulder, needing him to know it. ‘You’re right. There's no telling what’s going to happen, but I promise you I’ll fight every way I know how.’
Robin ducked his head closer, smile warm and conspiratorial. ‘Well, you know everything,’ he murmured. ‘So I’d say we’re in with a very good chance.’
Edwin smiled. ‘I don’t know everything.’
‘Almost everything.’ He took hold of Edwin’s hand and kissed the back of it.
Then he stilled for the briefest second before recovering himself. Edwin’s eyes, too, fell on the purple bracelet inked around his wrist.
‘Lady Cheetham will be able to get rid of it,’ he said quietly. ‘And she’s a lot more agreeable than her son.’
‘Not a difficult bar to clear,’ Robin pointed out, wrapping his fingers over the runes as though to deliberately hide them from view. ‘Although she could be the most ill-tempered woman on the British Isles; if there’s any chance she can help get this off you, we’d be going to see her, gala or no gala.’ His hand tightened around Edwin’s wrist. ‘They can’t have you. I won’t let them.’
Edwin suppressed a shiver. The idea that Walter and Bastoke might try to force him to work out how to use the Last Contract if they got their hands on him or had the right leverage hadn’t been one he’d let himself contemplate before.
Though really, he should have done. He thought again of his conversation with Jack, and what he’d said about the threat to Alan’s family. How would you behave if it were Robin?
He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.
‘Well, then,’ Edwin said. ‘I feel better knowing you’re with me. Knowing everyone is.’
‘Of course,’ Robin said, with warm fervour. ‘Every step of the way, love.’ He kissed Edwin’s forehead, a firm end to the conversation. ‘Now, would you please, for the sake of my nerves if not your own, go to sleep?’
Edwin smiled at him and sat up enough to strip to his undershirt and drawers, then climbed beneath the covers. Robin moved closer as Edwin’s eyes drifted shut, hand running affectionately through his hair, thumb stroking his jaw. Lulled by the touch and the warmth of the bed and the sheer magnitude of his own exhaustion, Edwin let the tumult of the worries that had kept him awake since yesterday slip away for a while.
Later, he’d need to strengthen the wards at both Spinet and the Blyth house, and make it to Cheetham undetected, and somehow figure out their next move. But not before resting, and never alone.
The next battle was coming. They’d be ready for it.