Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 17: Dangerous Games

Tristan stared.

Owain lounged on his bed, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. He was dressed in a loose blue tunic and white trousers, and there was a book open on his lap. Yellow light flickered across his face. I'm dreaming, Tristan thought. He pinched his skin, but nothing changed. Owain was still sitting on his bed.

"That sounded cozy," Owain said.

The other boy rose. Tristan watched — frozen — as Owain crossed to the bookshelf, running a finger along the dusty spines.

"What are you doing here?" Tristan heard himself ask.

Owain pulled out a leatherbound tome. "Terrible book." He held it up. "Have you read it?"

Tristan's heartbeat was painful. "I thought you were in faerie."

Owain ignored this, thumbing through the book. "It's about a human that's slowly transforming into a bird. Intriguing plot, but abhorrent dialogue." He shoved it back on the shelf. "The main character can only caw by the end."

"You can't be here," Tristan said.

"Do you fancy him?" Owain asked. "That boy you were speaking to outside?"

The question was so abrupt that it took Tristan a moment to process what Owain meant. Faolan. Right. They'd been speaking outside the door before he came in; it felt like a lifetime ago, now. Tristan sank onto the bed.

"Owain," Tristan said. "I'm serious. You can't just— just..." He glanced at the window. "Talulla has eyes everywhere. She'll throw you from a palace window."

Owain flapped a hand. "Lulu and I are old friends. She won't mind."

The faerie prince leaned against the wardrobe, idly flipping through a book. Tristan stared at his hands. Hot blood pounded in his head. For Owain to just show up like this... to just— just waltz in with no apology or explanation for his abrupt departure...

His jaw tightened.

"Forget it." Tristan rose. "Can you move? I have to change for supper."

He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. Owain stepped gracefully to the side, his eyes fixed on the book. Tristan pulled out shirts at random: a ruffled white piece, a silky black tunic, a golden shirt with lacing down the front... all in his size, of course. He had no idea how Talulla had managed that, but he wasn't surprised. Tristan held the golden tunic up to his body.

"Not that," Owain said.

The faerie prince's eyes were on the book. Tristan frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't wear that one," Owain said.

Despite himself, Tristan felt a prickle of hurt. "I happen to look amazing in gold. I've been told that it brings out my eyes."

"I know it does," Owain said.

He met Tristan's gaze. There was something raw about Owain's face, something that made Tristan think of a broken clock with all its copper wires out, and Tristan lowered the shirt. "What do you want, Owain?"

He sounded tired. Burning hell, he felt tired. Owain turned over the book in his hands.

"I..." Owain's coppery lashes shadowed his cheeks. "It turns out that I've grown accustomed to having you around. And as frustrating as you can be, I find it quite difficult to be away from you." His smile was wry. "A maddening conundrum."

Tristan's chest tightened. "I thought you didn't believe in getting involved with humans."

Owain reshelved the book. "I'm starting to rethink my position."