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Vranik was a nightmare. Literally.
Henry couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Ištván Tóth’s gleeful grinning mug as he tore Henry’s life to shreds with only a few words. Every time Henry breathed, he could feel every punishing blow driven into his ribs by Tóth’s awful minion.
He hadn’t looked Sir Radzig in the eye since he’d arrived back—which was admittedly made easier by the fact that the physician had confined him to his bed in the pig shed for his injuries, despite Henry's insistence he was fine. His liege lord—his father—had been smart enough to set guards out to keep him from trying to leave, apparently guessing correctly that Henry was formulating numerous plans for how he could stab Ištván Tóth in his face.
It had been several days since he’d returned to Rattay, and he’d spent every moment of them in bed, glaring at the ceiling and trying not to dwell on the way his parents had lied to him his entire life, and how maybe if he found Tóth again, he could give him a good few kicks in the ribs, and then he could stab him in his face.
The passiveness of recovery was utterly maddening.
On the fourth day, he was startled from a very nice a daydream about beating Tóth to a pulp, running him through with his father’s sword, and then stabbing him in his face when there was a pounding on his door.
He wanted to tell whoever it was to fuck off. Instead, he stayed silent, hoping they would assume he was asleep and leave on their own.
“Blacksmith’s boy! I know you’re in there, you’re not allowed to leave!”
Henry heaved a sigh that hurt his ribs. Of everyone it could have been, it had to be the one person who would never be deterred when there was something he wanted, bed rest or no.
“It isn’t locked, Sir Hans.”
“It—” The door creaked open, just a fraction, and the haughty features of Sir Hans Capon appeared in the space, blinking down at the door handle, “—oh.”
He pushed the door the rest of the way, standing in the middle of Henry’s pig shed like a pearl set in tin. His fists landed on his hips as he took in his surroundings, and his nose wrinkled with disgust. “This is where they have you living?” he asked, disapproval evident in his voice.
Despite himself, Henry smiled. “Was there something you needed, my lord?” he prompted softly. He certainly did not want to come across as impudent, but he also couldn’t imagine what usefulness he could offer Sir Hans with his body still recovering from being battered into paste. And he really wanted to get back to imagining stabbing Ištván Tóth in his face.
Sir Hans finally fixed his eyes on him, and he wore the conspiratorial smile that always made the hair on Henry’s neck stand up. “I’m here to rescue you!”
“Uh.” From the pigs? They actually weren’t bad company, except for the… well, the shit. “From what, sir?”
The lord rolled his eyes, as though it were obvious. “From boredom, Hal.”
Hans had started calling him Hal only recently, and not particularly often, but the nickname could always temporarily ease some of the deep ache of homesickness that had made itself Henry’s constant companion since the sacking of Skalitz. He often wondered if Hans even knew.
“I’m meant to be on bed rest, sir,” Henry said slowly.
Hans gave him a pointed look that said Henry was being too stupid to reason with. It was one Henry was rather familiar with. “And how is that bed rest treating you?”
Dressing a bull in a kirtle would be easier than arguing with Hans when he had a plan, and if Henry were honest with himself, he wasn’t as motivated to do so as maybe he should be. So he merely sighed and braced himself.
“What did you have in mind?”
What Sir Hans Had in Mind
There was a new “true love.” Of course there was.
Hans was apparently deeply in love with the baker’s daughter. Henry had met her quite a few times in his various escapades through Rattay. Her name was Leška, and she was pretty enough, he supposed (“her eyes are like sapphires, Hal, and she has an arse like a peach”), and quite pleasant (“her smile could end wars, I’m telling you”). She gave Henry a discount on bread sometimes, and he would be the first to admit his loyalty could often be bought with food.
How Hans had met her, he couldn’t begin to guess, but she certainly had left an impression.
“But why do you need me for this plan, sir?” Henry really shouldn’t have asked, but the impending doom alarms in his head had been going off ever since the lord pushed his way through his door.
Now, Henry stood in the middle of Hans’ chambers, watching awkwardly as he rummaged through his storage chest head first like a badger digging a burrow, waxing poetic—or, as Henry thought of it, nattering on incessantly—about Leška (apparently her tits were quite nice to look at as well, Henry had stopped listening after that). After several long, long, incredibly long moments, Hans threw up an arm victoriously with a small box clutched in his hand.
“A-ha! Found it.” He tossed it to Henry, who fumbled it in his hands and nearly dropped it.
It was a simple but lovely bentwood box, and when Henry removed the lid, it was to find a delicate gold hairpin adorned with a single, perfect pearl. The object was so fine, it looked a bit vulgar in Henry’s large, calloused hands. It was a very expensive gift for a peasant paramour—far too expensive, in Henry’s opinion, which made him wonder if perhaps it really was love this time. The thought made his skin itch.
“Do I want to know why you just had this lying around?” Henry asked flatly. Hans rose up from his knees to his full height—several inches taller than Henry, and he suspected if Hans could commission a scribe to craft an illuminated announcement of that fact, he would. The grin he gave him could almost be described as villainous if one wanted to spend a night in the pillory. And one didn’t. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”
“I need you to take that to Leška and tell her it’s from ‘her most ardent admirer,’” Hans said, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Didn’t this not work last time?” Henry hedged. He didn’t want to outright say that the secret admirer plan had been foolish from the start but, well. If the big yellow boot fit.
“You’re right, it didn’t. But I’ve learned from it!” Hans replied, sounding far too chipper to have learned anything at all. “My talent for words was obviously wasted on Karolina—” Henry knew this was the closest Hans would ever get to saying he’d botched it, “—so you will be my messenger this time.”
“And then what?” Henry asked, unable to help himself. He still occasionally had moments where he could almost smell that foul musk once again and had to hold back a gag. And he didn’t think the physician would approve of him ducking in and out of bushes or getting tenderized by an angry father like a tough cut of meat.
“I’ll give her three gifts, one for each day. On the final day, you will ask her if she will rendezvous with me in the upper castle garden so I can declare my love for her myself. And then you will be free to go back to your sulking.”
Henry didn’t sulk. If anything, he brooded. He wasn’t exactly sure what the difference was except that Ma used to tell him sulking was for spoiled children.
Nevertheless, he agreed. It sounded easy enough, and Hans promised him he wouldn’t have to sing this time.
Day One
Henry arrived at the bakery just after noon. Leška was sitting on the bench outside, spinning and humming sweetly to herself. Her long brown hair was rather messy and turned the color of damp straw under the sunlight—quite unlike Hans’, which gleamed golden and triumphant, inviting the light to dance on it in gilded glory.
Actually, once Henry was closer to her he could see there really was straw sticking out of the back of her loose locks.
The early afternoon sun cast his shadow across her like black smoke drifting slowly above smoldering wreckage—
“Hello Sir Henry!”
Henry blinked, and Leška was staring up at him with an agreeable smile that lifted the corners of her full mouth. Her eyes were very blue and turned downward slightly at the outer corners.
“Good day, Leška,” he said with a small bow. His brain seemed to catch up with him a few moments later. “And, er, it’s just Henry, actually. I’m not a knight.”
She tilted her head, looking bemused. “My apologies, only you look like one.”
Hans had insisted Henry go to Leška in his full Leipa plate armor, polished and shining and covered by a black and yellow waffenrock. He had tried to tell Hans that it was too much, that he would look like a Rattay guardsman and that would be more likely to scare peasants than impress them. Hans had dug his heels in, as always.
In the end, he had agreed to let Henry leave out the waffenrock which, for Henry, was a mighty victory.
That victory had melted in the hot midday sun and was now puddled somewhere at the small of his back.
At least he didn’t have to wear a helmet.
Henry pulled a small piece of parchment from his pouch, checking it as discreetly as possible.
“That’s because—er—I’m here on very important business. I’ve come to tell you that your en—enr—” He checked the parchment again, where Hans’ elegant script stared accusingly up at him. He probably should have told Hans he’d only started reading a couple weeks ago. “En-rap-tur-ing beauty,” crushed it, “is both be—bewit—be-witch-ing—” Why is the ‘t’ there at all? “And be—” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Be-gool—? No. Beguiling?” Leška was blinking up at him looking utterly lost. Henry tried to swallow his frustration. “On behalf of a most ardent admirer, I wish to deliver this gift.”
He pulled the small box out of his pouch, and his gauntlets got caught on the way out. In trying to maneuver himself free, he nearly fumbled the box again. He was grateful when she took it off his hands.
“Oh!” Leška’s already large eyes widened as she took in the pretty hairpin. “It’s lovely,” she cooed, caressing one finger over the curve of the pearl. When she looked at Henry again, she seemed nervous. “Are you sure this is for me?”
It had better be, or Henry would never hear the end of it. “I’m sure.” He bowed to her once more, and, unsure if he was meant to wait for a response, he decided he was quite finished making a fool of himself. “Uh. Take care then.”
Henry all but ran back to Pirkstein, not wanting to see the look on her face.
To his credit, Hans did reward him generously—with fine wine straight from Sir Hanush’s stores. How Hans had procured the drink without Henry, he didn’t know, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Pa had always said to never gift a horse with your mouth. Or… that’s not how it went. However he said it, he told him not to question good things, and so he wouldn’t.
They drank far too deeply into the night, and instead of letting Henry break his neck on the stairs down to his pig shed, Hans had all but insisted he sleep on the second bed in his chambers. Henry didn’t realize until the next day that he had forgotten all about stabbing Ištván Tóth in his face.
Day Two
The next day, Hans gave him another script and another box, this one containing an ivory comb with the finest teeth Henry had ever seen. He wondered if she would use it. It looked like it would fetch a good price, enough to feed a family through winter.
She was sitting outside her house again, this time plucking a chicken with decisive yanks of her hands. Henry approached her, dressed in the nicest gambeson and hose he owned (they didn’t even have any holes in them, and more importantly they weren’t made of steel).
“Hello again, Henry. Are you needing… bread today?” Her voice faltered in its question when he pulled his new script from his pouch and handed her the box.
“Good day, Leška,” he started, blinking in dismay as he scanned the paper in his hands. He had told Hans to use smaller words this time. “I’ve come once again on behalf of your most ardent admirer to tell you that—er—that beautiful is the blue of your res-” Christ, so much for that, “re-splen-dent eyes, but nothing is as fine as the part of your—Nope. Actually, forget that.” Henry could feel his cheeks blaze hot as he urgently stuffed the script as far down into his pouch as it would go. “Who really likes poetry, anyway?”
She began to open the small box in her hands, which still had small pieces of down stuck to them. Henry’s foot tapped desperately in the dirt, ready to jump into flight as soon as possible.
Her face lit up at the sight of the lovely comb, and she graced him with that comely smile on him once again. Hopefully, he thought, that meant she hadn’t quite heard what he’d been about to say. Small mercies.
“Take care then,” he blurted, and fled before she could get a word in edgewise.
When Hans found him later and asked how it had gone, Henry threw the crumpled script at his laughing idiot face.
It had taken three rounds of schnapps and a particularly fortunate roll of the dice at the tavern for Henry to talk to him again. Hans even helped him into his shed that night, his arm wrapped tightly around Henry’s middle to prevent him from falling, and Henry was asleep within seconds of hitting his pillow.
Day Three
On the third day of Hans’ little plan, he nearly broke down Henry’s door with his excitement.
“Why even bother knocking at this point?” Henry griped, rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes.
Hans looked thoughtful for a moment, and in that moment, Henry could feel the potential consequences of his actions lurking behind him. “That was a joke,” he said quickly.
Hans had brought him yet another gift, this time a pair of sheepskin crakow slippers that Henry was pretty sure we not safe to wear near hot ovens. His mind helpfully supplied an image of her slipping on the long toes and flying head first—
“So, you’ll give her the gift and ask her if you may escort her this evening to meet her very handsome admirer, and if she says yes, you’ll bring her to meet me in the garden behind the upper castle.”
“But why don’t you walk her to the castle garden?” Henry scratched the back of his neck. Sometimes he wondered if Hans just liked to test how far Henry would go to follow his orders and requests. Henry kept surprising himself with each new answer.
Hans smoothed back his hair as though it wasn’t already perfectly coiffed. “Because I have to make an entrance, Hal,” he preened.
“And because Hanush will never let you leave your chambers until you die of old age if he catches you,” Henry stated bluntly. Hans frowned at him disdainfully and Henry knew he was right.
“I have a new script for you,” the lord said instead, and held out a piece of parchment for Henry to take.
He grabbed it out of his hand and scanned it briefly.
My Lady Leška, your face astounds
but I long to caress your lovely mounds—
“Yeah, I’m not saying that,” Henry scoffed. “That’s twice you’ve made me look like a lunatic now, I’m not doing it again. If you want to stand any chance with Leška, you’ll let me do the talking this time.”
Hans sniffed, but Henry could see the way his mouth twitched at the corners. “You just don’t understand true love, Henry,” he said haughtily.
For half a moment, Henry could see Bianca’s sunshine smile when he’d twirled her at the dance and the way her copper hair had fanned out around her like dragon’s fire. He could see the wide, glassy look to her eyes when he’d found her the next day in the rain, and he thought that maybe Hans was right about that. If the love was true, then how could she have left him behind?
Leška was humming happily to her chickens the next day, scattering seed from a basket on her arm. Henry had to clear his throat twice before she noticed his presence.
There was no way for him to hide the slippers on his person, and she startled a bit when she turned and saw them. Henry didn’t blame her.
“Good day, Henry,” she said, not breaking her smile at him but sounding trepidatious. She crossed her chicken pen to greet him, and Henry couldn’t help but notice the dirt and mud that had collected on her sensible, well-loved boots.
“Good day, Leška.” Henry gave her his usual bow.
“Are those for me?” She kept her voice carefully polite, reaching a finger out to very gingerly tap the pointed toe of one of the slippers with her forefinger.
“They are!” Henry tried to keep his voice cheerful and hopeful. “From your—”
“—ardent admirer,” she interrupted, accepting the shoes into her hands with grace. “Yes, I suspected as much. Another quite…” She stared at them for a moment as if she were trying to do sums in her head, “extravagant gift.”
Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to think of anything to say that would make up for the very existence of the shoes, but she beat him to it.
“I’m sure I can find somewhere to wear them.”
“Well, actually,” he said quickly, “you could wear them this evening. Your admirer asks if you would join him in the upper castle garden this evening face to face.”
Leška didn’t quite look excited at the prospect. In fact, mostly she seemed confused.
“I… don’t think I’d be allowed in the upper castle, Henry.” She looked at him like this should’ve been obvious. Because it was.
“You are if I’m with you,” he clarified quickly. Maybe he should have written himself a script. “Which is why I will come and escort you.”
She watched him for a long moment, and he thought maybe she was trying to decide if he was quite mad. He gave her the most winning smile he could.
Finally, she straightened herself and tucked the shoes underneath her arm. “Very well, Henry,” she said finally, and the cheer was back in her kind voice. “I would be happy to accompany you to the garden this evening, thank you. I will wait for you here after the bell?”
“I’ll return then,” he said. “So… take care.”
And Hans always told him he had the etiquette of a water goblin. Could a water goblin woo a beautiful woman? He didn’t think so.
Actually, he wasn’t sure—perhaps Theresa would know. He resolved to ask her the next time he saw her.
When he returned to the bakery shortly after the bell, it was to find Leška already waiting for him, arms tucked behind her back. She looked like she was wearing her best dress in a forest green that suited her complexion, and he could see the points of her shoes sticking out from under the skirt. When he stopped in front of her to hold out his arm for her to take, he could see her pearl hairpin catch the light of the low evening sun.
The walk up the hill to Rattay castle was unbearably long. Leška could barely walk in her new shoes, and had to kept stopping to adjust them or untangle them from her skirts. Henry discovered that despite his ribs feeling entirely healed at this point, he still had to frequently stop to catch his breath. At one point, Leška became fully entangled by her shoes and toppled face first into Henry’s chest, which made him wheeze.
By they time they crested the hill, they were both flushed from exertion and embarrassment and had stopped speaking to each other entirely.
Luckily the gardens weren’t much further.
While Henry guided them through the castle courtyard, Leška’s head whipped wildly around, taking in the gleaming stone and bright yellow pennons. Henry had been much the same his first time here. Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid much attention to anything that wasn’t the tournament ring.
The upper castle garden was lovely, in full bloom with roses, poppies, sage, and plenty of native plant species, some of which Henry himself had planted—partially to help beautify the garden, but mostly to give himself a nearby source of his rarer materials. What Sir Hanush didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Hans was standing beside a small table Henry didn’t recognize. He had to admit, the lord made for a striking figure. His broad shoulders and chiseled jawline were silhouetted against the setting sunlight that set his golden hair ablaze. Henry wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but for a flash of a second, when Hans’ eyes lit upon Leška’s face, he looked somewhat… disappointed.
Henry blinked and the look was gone, replaced with Hans’ most charming smile, and he wondered if he had imagined it.
Henry released Leška’s arm and took a slight step back. “Leška, may I introduce you to your admirer, Lord Capon.”
He wasn’t sure why he was surprised when she let out a sharp gasp and dipped nearly to her knees with her overenthusiastic bow to Hans—perhaps because Henry usually thought of Hans less like an imposing noble and more like a test from God of his patience.
Hans gave him his Henry-exclusive exasperated look when he didn’t bother to follow Leška’s example, but Henry definitely didn’t see it because he was staring up at a very interesting cloud in the sky above him.
“Lord Capon,” she gasped at the dirt. “I’m honored.”
“Good evening, dear Leška,” Hans crooned. “Please, just call me Hans.” Henry tried not to roll his eyes too loudly. “I’m very pleased you agreed to my invitation.” He held out a hand to her, looking every bit the gallant knight in his favorite tales. His fingers curled gently below hers and lifted her slowly to stand.
Blushing to the tips of her ears, Leška looked over at Henry, who had slowly been inching his way out backward of the garden. “But I thought—forgive me, my lord, I’m only surprised because I thought Henry was my admirer.”
Him? Henry couldn’t help but feel a little offended. He would never try to court a woman with something so ridiculous as inappropriate gifts and terrible poetry.
Hans glanced at Henry, looking much the same. He gave a haughty little chuckle that would have been a derisive snort if she hadn’t been there. “Henry? He would never think to court a woman with something so charming as pretty gifts and excellent poetry.”
She gave Henry a cagey look. “I have to say, I’m quite relieved.” No, it wasn’t cagey. It was pity. “You weren’t… very good at it.”
He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. He couldn’t have been that bad. He was only following Hans’ orders. And besides, Bianca had always found him perfectly charming, hadn’t she?
Theresa would know. He was definitely going to ask her—
“Well, I will be thankful that Henry carried out his task successfully,” Hans said smoothly, pulling a chair out from the table and gesturing for her to sit. “And now, perhaps you would care to dine with me?”
She actually giggled. Henry had to look away so as not to laugh. He would never understand what women found so charming about Hans Capon.
“Henry.” He looked up from examining his feet to where Hans was giving him a pointed look from his own seat. There was a wineskin held over his cup, not yet uncorked. “I can manage on my own from here.”
He didn’t need to be told twice; he’d been rocking on the balls of his feet with the desire to flee since they’d entered through the garden gate. He had to force himself not to run.
“Wait—Henry!”
He could feel his neck prickling with annoyance as he turned to Hans once more.
He did not like the smile he found there one bit.
“Will you check in with my uncle about the very important tourney questions he had for you? You know how forgetful he can be.”
Henry glared at him. The only questions Sir Hanush could possibly have for him about the tourney would be, “How much money should I bet on you?” and “Do you really need a reward by this point?” But he knew what Hans was up to.
“Surely, my lord,” he said, chewing each word through gritted teeth, “Sir Hanush is taking his supper over on the other side of the castle. I would hate to disturb him.”
“It’s still quite early for my uncle’s meal. I’m sure he would want to get the whole business resolved before sundown.” Hans’ words were sharp and halting for emphasis now, but perhaps barring Sir Hanush, there wasn’t a man alive who could best Henry’s stubbornness once he’d made up his mind.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Really, sir, it can wait until tomorrow,” he growls.
There was a wrinkle starting at the top of Hans’ nose and around his nostrils that usually indicated a barrage of insults was sure to follow, but Leška gave a curious tilt of her head that made Hans purse his lips in a rare display of self-control.
Instead, he turned his face up to Henry, and his eyes were wide and wet and pleading, the cool blue reflecting some of the purple of the sunset. He gave Henry a forlorn sigh, sticking his lip out in a childish pout that was somehow utterly endearing. “I suppose,” he said sadly, “that I’ll just have to leave my lovely guest alone so I can deal with it myself.” He sagged, looking utterly despondent, and started to stand from his chair.
Evil.
An evil, evil demon is what Hans Capon was.
A fiend with absolutely no moral compass.
Henry sighed. “No,” he said, his voice flat and monotone. “Don’t worry yourself, Sir Hans. I’ll take care of it for you.”
Henry shot one last glare at him as he turned to leave, but it didn’t matter.
He was going to go distract Sir Hanush.
The next day, he woke to Hans pounding on his door. Once again. When Henry blearily opened it, it was to find him grinning like Mutt after catching a fat hare. Just the sight of him chased his exhaustion away and set his teeth to grinding.
“I suppose you’d like to know how it went,” Hans said smugly.
Henry crossed his arms over his chest, glaring as fiercely as he could manage after just waking up.
“That depends,” he snapped. “Was it worth the absolute bollocking I took from Sir Hanush last night?”
Hans didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Henry wasn’t exactly surprised but he could have at least tried to fake it, at the very least. “That bad? Whatever for?”
“To get him to leave the castle so close to suppertime, I had to tell him that Sir Radzig wanted to dine with him in Pirkstein to discuss the attack on Vranik.”
“What, he didn’t like the chicken at Pirkstein as much?” Hans was grinning and Henry wanted to stuff his head in the pig slop next door.
“Turns out Sir Radzig was in Sasau last night on business.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh,’” Henry says, far too loudly. “Sir Hanush made me walk him all the way up the hill to the upper castle so he could swear at me on the way.”
Hans’ mouth wobbled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. Henry glared at him.
“Do not laugh,” he warned him. Hans nodded, then shook his head, and had to suck in his cheeks to keep a straight face. “He made me stand next to him and hold the wine jug until he was finished eating. All told, I walked the entire length of Rattay yesterday six times.”
There was a snort from Hans, and he started biting his lip.
Henry narrowed his eyes. “Don’t laugh, Hans, or I will walk up a seventh time just to tell Sir Hanush everything.”
That wiped the smile right off his face. Hans raised his hands in supplication. “Alright! I won’t laugh. Your service has been greatly appreciated.”
Satisfied enough, Henry dropped to sit on the edge of his bed, his legs aching a bit from the day before. Hans stood near the door, oddly quiet now, wearing the same look that he got when he was plotting.
“Actually, Henry,” he said finally, and his voice turned strangely serious. “I think you’ve earned a reward.”
Henry examined his face carefully, searching for mischief, but all he found was a furrowed brow he didn’t recognize.
“Why don’t you take the second bed in my chambers from now on? It doesn’t look good for me to make my page sleep in a pig shed.”
Henry knew he was staring at Hans with his mouth hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. He heard the words, heard the order in which they were arranged, but they didn’t make any sense.
“You… You want me to stay in your chambers?”
Hans briefly dropped his head backward against his shoulders with a sigh. When he lifted himself back up, the Henry-exclusive exasperated look reappeared.
“Yes, Hal.”
“While you’re there?”
"Yes, Hal."
“But—”
“If you prefer the pig shed, you’re more than welcome to—”
“No!”
He didn’t know where the outburst had come from. He didn’t mind the pig shed. Mostly.
“That’s… kind of you, sir. I’d appreciate that.”
That night, rain beat loudly against the glass windows of Pirkstein and wind whistled through arrow loops and drafty halls. And instead of being cold and damp in the shed surrounded by the smell of wet shit, Henry sat next to Hans on his floor in front of his fireplace, drinking more of Sir Hanush’s Sylvan red and listening to Hans’ bawdy tale of his night with Leška.
Surprising nobody, it turned out that for all of Leška’s lovely “assets,” she wasn’t Hans’ true love after all. “Once she got going, she did not stop talking for the rest of the evening,” he said, shaking his head incredulously.
Henry swallowed his laugh, but a small snort escaped anyway. “I can’t imagine, sir,” he hummed to himself.
Hans sighed dramatically, leaning back with his hands pressed flat against the floor behind him. “I still hope to find true—real—love someday. At least once.” The firelight danced across his face, casting dramatic shadows over the sharp ridge of his nose bone and the curve of his jawline. The way it reflected from his eyes made them sparking coals in the dark. He turned to look at Henry, and though the smile he gave him was small and a little bit lopsided with drink, it was genuine. Possibly even fond.
“At least in the meantime, I’ll always have you at my back. Right, Hal?”
In a tiny, secret part of his heart he didn’t often acknowledge, Henry thought perhaps he could understand what women found so charming about Hans Capon.
“'Course you do. I wouldn't be much use at your front.”
Hans began to laugh, the sound coming out as some kind of cross between a giggle and a cackle, flopping fully to the floor. He reached over and slapped Henry several times on the arm, and when Henry looked, his grin was wide and beaming. "I could think of a few things!"
This set Henry to cackling as well, slapping his hand back at Hans, who shoved his side hard enough to send him toppling over. In moments, they were wrestling on the floor like boys in the summers of their lives not yet touched by tragedy.
And, as it turned out, Hans also had many clever and creative ideas for ways Henry could stab Ištván Tóth in his stupid fucking face.
Henry returned to the pig shed the next morning to move his possessions to his new lodgings. Despite the way his head was throbbing with bottle-ache, he caught a small flash of white on the floor beneath the head of the bed.
When he crouched to investigate, he found the three scripts Hans had given him protruding slightly from the fold of his belt pouch. They were all crumpled and smeared and slightly damp, but still intact.
He didn’t know why, but he took the three sheets of parchment out and carefully, meticulously flattened and folded them, before he opened his storage chest and pressed them into the pages of his precious herbarium.