Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

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Diarmán flinched, wrinkling his nose and waved away a cloud of dust—or tried, at least. His effort was in vain. He could feel the filth settling over his face and his hair.

"Are you going to do that every time you make a single pass with the broom?" Padréc asked.

"It got in my mouth! Pthpht!"

"Gods below. In the amount of time I have spent helping you help me, I could have done the entire aviary."

"You sound as if you don't appreciate my assistance."

"I might appreciate it, if you were giving me any." Padréc leaned on the iron grille of the alcove Diarmán had been sweeping, grinning down at him.

"Well, have at it alone, then," said Diarmán irritably. He got to his feet, dusting his tunic and breeches. Small feathers and specks of bird droppings fluttered to the floor. "Your bird shit perfume is giving me a headache, anyway."

"The new leaf you have turned is a good one." Padréc clapped him on the shoulder. "I just think you should try turning it somewhere else. Go help Declaen and Leán with the fences, why don't you?"

"They've never appreciated my supervision."

"Perhaps because they're much better at it than you are."

Diarmán sniffed. He turned away from Padréc, prepared to make a haughty exit, but he stopped short when he saw a tall, broad figure at the top of the tower stairs.

His heart dropped, taking his breath with it.

Uachi was wearing the same clothes he'd had on when he left, and he carried the same bag over his shoulder. He looked unwashed and travel-weary. He glanced from Diarmán to Padréc and back again. "I hope I didn't startle you. There was no one around. I just...let myself in."

Padréc gave Diarmán a meaningful look. "Come to think of it," he said, "Perhaps I'll go help Leán and Declaen." He strode toward the window, turning on the way to walk backward for a few paces. "Breathe through your mouth, Uachi. He's wearing my perfume."

Panic beat its wings in Diarmán's chest. "Padréc—!"

But the younger man leapt nimbly up onto the windowsill and dropped out into the open air without another backward glance. Uachi's soft exhalation was almost a laugh.

"I'll never get used to that," he said.

Diarmán turned back to him, swinging the alcove grille closed. "What are you doing here?"

Uachi looked at him for a long moment without speaking. He finally shook his head. "I don't...I don't think I have an answer for that."

Diarmán had just begun to wrap his mind around the reality of a life without the man who had become his closest companion, his best friend, his lover. Now, here he stood, just a few feet of dusty wooden floorboards separating them. "You must do better than that," he breathed. "Please."

"I came to talk to you."

"Why?" Diarmán's heart throbbed in his chest, as painfully as if the grief had just been born anew. To see Uachi here, close enough to touch, was dangerous. It felt like hope.

"There is more than one true answer to that question." Uachi stepped properly into the room, hesitated, and then moved toward Diarmán, who raised his hands and backed away a step. His shoulders bumped against the alcove wall. "Careful," he said, absurdly. "I stink."

Uachi truly laughed, then. He spread his arms, looking down at his soiled clothing. "I haven't had a bath since I left. I won't be able to smell you over myself."

Diarmán could only offer a weak smile in response. "You don't smell that bad."

"...I saw them leaving." He nodded toward the aviary window, indicating something outside, or perhaps everything outside. "Some of the funeral guests. Not a feather to be seen upon them. ...What happened here?"

"Well..." Diarmán grasped for simple words to describe all that had happened in the past few days. "...That is a story too long to tell standing."

"Will you tell it?"

Meeting Uachi's eye, Diarmán nodded. "If you'll hear it."

Uachi gazed at him, something soft and hesitant in his eyes. "I will. I'll hear the whole of it, if you'll start with one thing."

Diarmán knew what he wanted to ask. "He's gone. I don't think he will be back. And his intended...She is well on her way to her home, safe in body, if not in mind."

Uachi gave a single, firm nod. He seemed to digest this knowledge for a moment, looking at Diarmán seriously. Then he stepped back, opening the way to the tower stairs. Feeling more than a little anxious, Diarmán moved past him, keenly aware of the dark gaze following him to the stairs. But before he could begin his descent, Uachi's hand closed around his wrist and gently tugged him back.

Diarmán fell into Uachi's open arms, which folded around him, warm and familiar. His head dropped to his chest, and he grasped the back of Uachi's tunic, his hands curling into fists. He did stink, of sweat and dust and sun and farm animals. To tell him so, or perhaps to say how sorry he was, Diarmán lifted his head, looking up at Uachi.

Before he could speak, Uachi had kissed him. Diarmán rose into the kiss, clutching Uachi's shirt more tightly, and as he melted into the warmth and the sweetness of that kiss, his eyes stung with tears.

They broke apart, their foreheads brushing. Diarmán's heart was racing, and if Uachi had not held him, he might not have been able to stand under his own power.

"I was so stupid," he breathed. "I was so foolish and blind and cruel."

Uachi's arms tightened a little.

"I'm sorry."

"What was it that changed your mind, Diarmán?" Uachi asked, his voice a low murmur.

And Diarmán thought about that for a moment. Had he answered at once, he would have said that it had been Uachi's leaving that had changed his mind about what was happening at the castle, about his father's plans. But that wasn't the truth.

Uachi's departure had broken him, had shown him how bad things truly were. But it had been looking into young Lady Naefe's eyes that had told him what he needed to do.

"I saw what you saw," he replied. "I just...I wish I had seen it sooner."

Drawing back from Diarmán, Uachi cupped his face in his hands, tipping his chin up gently. "I wish you had too," he said. "But you did, in the end. And you've made things right."

"I nearly lost you."

Uachi's smile was brief and sad. "You did lose me," he said.

Pain lanced through Diarmán's heart. He loosened his hold on Uachi's shirt. Gods below, he truly was stupid. He had dared, for a moment, to hope.

"Now, we start again," Uachi continued. He brushed his thumb over Diarmán's cheek, then slid his hand back into his hair, cupping his head, and leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips. With his other hand at the small of Diarmán's back, he drew him closer.

It left Diarmán breathless. His heart filled with a swirl of fear and hope, he threaded his fingers through the ones on his waist.

"We start again," he echoed, drawing Uachi toward the stair. "With a story too long to be told standing."