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“We are short.”
“We will manage.”
“The ledger tells another story.” Hytham pinches the bridge of his nose, watching Basim's quill pour into his latest report. He wishes the man would take this more seriously, he's growing weary of these conversations.
Their operations in Constantinople were growing rapidly, faster than they could keep up with. It was inevitable living at the heart of a harbour connecting the Volga trade route and the Silk Road. In liberating the city, they had merely unlocked its full potential, which meant they needed to expand their network in order to conduct their work as seamlessly as they'd hoped to. Unfortunately, this meant a great deal of trouble for the coin in their pockets. They were hardly equipped to provide the resources necessary to maintain and safeguard a brotherhood of their current size, to expand it would be disastrous. "Theophano will return with a hefty sum to cover our finances, as calculated.”
Hytham snorts, then winces for reacting so plainly. The man was still learning, as was he. Far be it from his place to judge another man so harshly. Basim, on the other hand, appeared utterly unbothered by his reaction, endeared even. It made Hytham want to vigorously shake the man. “You put too much faith in him.”
“And you—” Basim finally sets his quill down, relaxing further into his seat, "put too little. Hytham, there was a time when I too struggled to trust our novices with even the most mundane tasks. You will see my trust rewarded.” He winks.
"You speak as though you are centuries wiser. Shall I start referring to you as an old man?” He bites back. He was only joking, but his words come out sharper than intended, and the manner in which Basim's eyes narrowed sent an odd thrill in his gut.
“Excuse me, Masters—" The timid knock on the bureau door saves them both from another lengthy spar "—er, Mentors?”
“Emin.” They call out in tandem, eyes still glued to each other.
“The team is ready to harvest the pomegranates.”
They weren't settled on the location at first.
For weeks, Basim and Hytham would scour the city high and low for a suitable sanctuary the Hidden Ones could call home. Too many places lay threadbare, others were so hidden that it became painfully obvious. The city's old bureau, while still fully functional, lay perfectly undisturbed. Basim had taken less than a step onto the abandoned stairwell leading down to the vast underground chamber before swirling right back around on the same foot to leave. With a sturdy arm wrapped around his shoulder, Hytham had easily followed suit. A single glance was all it took to know the Order had tampered with the space, and Basim was not willing to risk either of their lives for the treasure trove of knowledge tempting them from within. They had worked too hard to secure Constantinople, the thought of losing it was too much to bear.
And so they redoubled their efforts to make a new home.
On one particular night, Hytham would be seated along a strip of shops in the market square watching an argument escalate between an old woman and a group of overzealous men. Evidently, the conversation had not gone according to plan. Whatever they were selling, she wasn't buying.
"Poor Euodia." Hytham leans back to eavesdrop on the couple directly behind him. "Have they no shame in badgering an old grieving woman?"
Initially, he had no intentions of announcing his presence. The eyes and ears of the Order, while headless, still lingered in the city's inner walls, but by the sounds of it, these men would not be leaving her alone anytime soon.
Luckily, Hytham didn't have to dance with the idea for very long because within seconds the men were scurrying with their tails tucked between their legs. Something had caught their attention, commanded their swift leave in fact, and not a moment sooner, Basim could be seen casually approaching the woman with open arms.
'Of course…' Hytham thought with an involuntary twitch in his eye. He wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or embarrassed that Basim had been 3 steps ahead. Maybe a bit of both. Undoubtedly, he was already aware of Hytham's whereabouts. With a heavy sigh, Hytham removed his hood and approached the two to formally introduce himself. After all, Basim was not the type to make casual acquaintances without reason.
"Ah yes, you remember the handsome young man I mentioned a few days past?"
"That I do! Euodia," the woman smiles, introducing herself to Hytham. "a pleasure to meet you at last. Your old man has sung nothing but high praise about you."
"Hytham," he beams back, nearly choking on a laugh threatening to burst from his lips. It was a split-second reaction, but Hytham caught the slightest hint of offense stealing the twinkle in Basim's eye at the mere mention of his apparent old age. It was almost enough to make him forget that Basim unnervingly called him 'handsome'. "The pleasure is mine."
"I can't thank you enough for volunteering to help."
'Of course…' Hytham thinks, headache returning, certainly not caused by the man standing opposite him. Certainly not.
Recently widowed with no children to her name, Euodia's late husband had left behind a generous plot of land that many an opportunist would have done anything to acquire. This resulted in an overwhelming number of charlatans appearing on her doorstep, robbing her of her peace and the chance to properly grieve. The level of malicious intent and manipulation they greeted her with was nothing new to Hytham, expected even. However, the sheer number of conmen conveying their unfiltered, and quite frankly, shamefully forward interest, was. He would soon learn that this was no ordinary plot of land they sought after. While others resided within the outskirts of the city walls, wedged between the various market shops and the bustle of everyday life lay a hidden jewel accessible only through the backdoors of Euodia's deceivingly humble home.
Framed by stunning limestone archways stood a large south-facing courtyard. The open space, lush with greenery, was divided by rows of tulips and narrow beaten paths. Between the divided sections lay 16 healthy pomegranate trees, proudly bearing plump fruit ripe for the picking.
The space was abound with love letters waiting to be uncovered, hidden in every crack in the wall, in every potted plant, in every worn patch of grass. The sentimental value of the property far outweighed any sum of money dropped at Euodia's feet, and Hytham could hardly blame her.
This was her home.
"I see you're hard at work."
Hytham pointedly ignores the soft whisper behind his ear and continues harvesting the pomegranates, careful not to bruise them when placing them in the basket. He's still a little miffed at being volunteered to help without his consent. He's hardly bothered by the work, this is a reprieve compared to their day-to-day, but he wonders sometimes —what would it be like to not be constantly surprised by his own partner?
He's about to reach for one directly overhead when Basim beats him to it, looming over him from behind to twist and pluck the fruit free from its stem. That surge of annoyance dissipates the moment he feels the warmth of Basim's body hugging close to his back, almost pushing him into the tree. Then he leans away, and Hytham has to stem the part of him that wishes he didn't. Wordlessly, Basim presents the pomegranate to him.
Hytham stares at the ripe bulb over his shoulder, tempted to bite into it's bitter pith. He can feel Basim's eyes boring into him, attention undivided, patiently waiting. So he grabs it. He doesn't bite into it, though. Instead, he weighs the strength of its skin, pinches the fruit between his strong fingers, and pulls it apart, handing Basim the other half. Finally turning to look at the man, Hytham's breath slows, stolen by the very enthusiastic bite Basim takes of the plump seeds still resting in Hytham's palm. Its juices immediately drip down Hytham's hand, and Basim, uncaring, tenderly clasps the sides of Hytham's face, pulling him into a searing kiss.
Perhaps… not all his surprises are so terrible.
"—Hytham, am I old?"
Hytham laughs until he is breathless.
With time, the trust Euodia grants them reaches a kind of mutual agreement. Hytham and Basim would protect Euodia's peace and help manage the general upkeep of the property, and Euodia would provide them with the spare key to the building attached directly opposite the courtyard. It was her husband's office and she claimed to have no further use for the space. Better to let Basim and Hytham use it than let it collect dust and cobwebs.
The place was mostly furnished already, only needing a few touch-ups to make it their own. The lower levels would serve as a resting point to Hidden Ones seeking refuge, and Basim's office would overlook the bustling market below.
It was perfect.
Before long, they would have plenty of hands to help with the season's harvest.
“You have made tremendous progress of late, Emin, you should be proud!"
“Thank you, mentor.”
The title puts an immediate halt to Hytham's work, alarm bells blaring in the back of his mind. He gently lowers the crate full of pomegranates next to the young man. “You said as much earlier in Basim's office. Why?”
“Thank you?” Emin raises a confused eyebrow, pulling away from the tree to address him formally.
“I am not your mentor, Emin.”
“Not officially, no. But you lead and guide us the same as Basim," he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Besides, he seemed rather pleased that I called you such.”
“He seemed pleased?” "Emin!" A familiar voice calls out. Hytham looks up to see Theophano merrily making his way over from the opposite end of the orchard, smile bright but tired from a long journey. “Theophano!”
“What news do you bring us?” Basim appears suddenly, rounding the tree they're both standing next to, sending a chill down Hytham's spine. 'How long was he standing there?'
“I bring good tidings from Pera." Theophano's smile broadens with his enthusiasm. "The assassination was a success!”
“That’s wonderful news!” Emin chirps.
“And what of the solid coin that was promised?”
“Right here, Master. Er—" Theophano fumbles for a coin purse that is no longer on his person. Immediately, Hytham gives Basim a smug look, though it is quickly gone when the reality of their situation strikes. "I could’ve sworn—” “You lost it." Basim cracks one of his unsettling smiles.
“Not at all! Surely, I have only misplaced it!" He insists.
“Were you traveling alone?” Hytham asks, on a hunch.
“With a group of bandits. They helped me find my way!” Both Basim and Hytham immediately wince in disbelief. “They were thieves, Theophano.”
“—We are short.” Hytham starts again.
“We are not!”
“What if we sold the pomegranates?”
All eyes turn to Emin like he's just discovered a scientific marvel.
Were they all truly that dense?
"I can't believe we never thought of this." Hytham mumbles under his breath with his arms crossed, watching Theophano manage their new juice stand in the bazaar below. "I can't believe you never thought of this."
"Hytham—"
"Suppliers, auctioneers, shopkeepers, and farmers were all tripping over themselves to make a profit off of this place."
"Hytham—"
"The location alone cuts out transport costs. We're selling ripe fruit directly from the tree to one of the busiest markets in the city from the safety of our own bureau!"
He is kissed against the frame of the open window before he can get another word out, all tension effectively leaving his body and rendering him boneless. The adrenaline and stress of the day pour away from him at once, and Basim's soft lips feel very, very nice against his. "Spare a thought for this tired old man, his mind is not what it used to be." Basim hums, hot breath ghosting over his cheek as he winds his arms around Hytham's torso. "You're hardly older than me," Hytham reminds him, rolling his eyes.
"Then we are both senile, and Constantinople is doomed."
The thought of growing old with Basim crosses Hytham's mind for a fleeting moment, and the tight flutter in his breast is suddenly too much to wrestle. As if sensing this, Basim redoubles his efforts to devour him, and Hytham happily lets him.