11. The Hermit

Two nights and three days later, Birger and Sachie finally reached the largest town in the region: Burga, a bi-cultural (a little Ourensean, a little Urnian) settlement bounded by the Terranea mountains and the Still Sea. Birger’s brother was northeast of Burga, situated in a valley before the famed mud volcanoes, and living in a cottage that he had built himself.

Birger and Sachie stopped in town to check on Avery and to replenish some supplies, but they didn’t stay to sightsee. They carried onwards—past the wooden buildings with their stone footings and rooftops of living grass—their stolen cart creaking along, jars clinking, as the two mutually basked in the sunshine and brisk air.

“What’s your brother like?” Sachie asked suddenly, breaking the silence. She was lounging back, feet propped near the reins, and snacking on a sweetened bread roll. Savoring and waiting for an answer, she smiled and closed her eyes against the sunlight. To Birger she looked pretty like that—sun-drenched and relaxed. She always held a sort of tense energy, very subtle though, unlike Avery’s. Birger was glad to see her genuinely carefree for once.

“Hmn.” He pondered her question for a moment. “A quiet, eccentric type. He can be rather patronizing to some, but deep down he’s a softie. He mostly kept to himself while we were growing up. Never had any close friends, as far as I knew. I think he only ever felt comfortable around me, but that was probably due to our shared disinterest in our responsibilities.”

“Which were?”

Birger released a hefty sigh, and regretted humoring her. He didn’t feel like talking about it, his past. He was more concerned with the present, the near future. Anything that wasn’t his days in Ourense—his time as a soldier, a prince, a neglected lover. He always had a difficult time looking back. It never did him any good. “Imperial obligations. Knight…stuff.”

Sachie snorted. “That’s so fucking vague. But I get it. Prince shit and combat training.”

He glanced at her, impressed. “Right.”

“Okay. But what’s your brother like? You said he’s a Potioner, is magic common in Ourense?”

“He’s like me, but…” Birger’s grip tightened. “I don’t know. Smarter? And as for the magic—yes…and no.”

Sachie grimaced. It was clear to her that she wouldn’t be receiving any juicy answers.

But Birger tried. “He was banished from Fôtla, Eyvind, my brother. He didn’t get along with our stepsister Hulda, or our uncle, or our parents. Neither one of us wanted to be King-Chief or carry on with what our father had started—warring with our neighbors on the mainland.” Birger shook his head. “But I proved my worth on the battlefield. I had that, at least. Our family could ignore whatever else I was up to.”

“Oh!” Sachie sat up. “And that was?”

Birger pursed his lips. “I was…in love with the wrong person and—as you know—I have a tendency to prefer domesticated activities over what our culture deems masculine—important… Though I enjoy those activities as well. Hunting. Fishing. I love a long bath and a night of entertainment and intense drinking. My basket weaving doesn’t lessen my proficiency with a sword or an axe or a hammer.”

Sachie cocked her head, smiling at his obvious frustration.

“Regardless, I appeased my parents, in a way. Eyvind had a harder time doing that, his interests were—objectively—worse than my domesticated ones.”

“Ah, I get you, so magic is a chick thing in Ourense.”

Birger frowned. “Yes, though I don’t agree with—”

“You’re fine, Borgy.” She patted his broad back. “You’re an elevated Ourensean. You’re into Avery, after all. Man is practically made of magic—er—was.” She laughed.

He huffed. “Eyvind was useful on the battlefield. He healed, he protected, he augmented. He was just as valuable as I was, if not more so. It was a shame that our father couldn’t appreciate all that he did and everything he could offer.”

“I take it you like your brother?”

“I love him. I was sad to see him go, but also relieved, because I knew he was getting away. I admit, I was envious of his banishment.” Birger could see Eyvind’s cottage on the horizon. A faint plume of smoke billowed up from a chimney. “He wrote to me once. To tell me where he settled and that he was well. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again.”

Sachie craned her neck to get a better look at their destination. “Well, I bet you’re glad for the detour, then. You have Avery to thank.”

“I suppose I do.”

“And what was your home like? What’s Ourense like, or I guess Fôtla, specifically?”

“Why do I have to answer all of these questions? What about you, Sachie? I hardly know you, what’s your last name?”

“Don’t have one. And don’t change the subject. I’ll answer your questions after you answer mine.”

Birger exhaled, annoyed but ultimately charmed. He thought of home, the narrow winding streets, the black buildings, the hills, the ceaseless steam. “Beautiful, actually.” He was alarmed to feel a pang of homesickness. “But I couldn’t wait to leave.”

Sachie was about to prod further, but Birger pulled the cart up to Eyvind’s property and gave her an amused look. “End of the road.”

“Drat.”

He laughed as he disembarked, then briefly frowned at the stiffness in his lower back.

Sachie hopped off and walked over to greet the variety of animals that had approached her—a puppy, a fluffy white cat, a few chickens, and a goat—she giggled and petted and cooed while Birger made his way around the cart to retrieve Avery. He had a difficult time focusing on the task, though, as he was too captivated by what Eyvind had built for himself.

It was everything Birger craved.

First off, the land. Though he had just confessed to Avery about wanting to live at the edge of the world, there was something remarkable about this region too. A point between Ourense and Urnia. A land of rugged valleys and canyons and breathtaking waterfalls. The grass sang in the wind, and the clouds provided a grand vista. He really wanted to see the mud volcanoes…

Eyvind was in the midst of nowhere, really. Surrounded by nature, he had established a little haven for himself; nothing ambitious, but nonetheless impressive, since Birger knew the man had accomplished this alone. How long had he been out here? Three…no, four years, and Eyvind had managed to build a tidy wooden cottage fitted with a pristine white door and white window frames. The windows were colorful abstract glass—no doubt the handiwork of a craftsman in town, unless his brother had taken up a new hobby. The path was paved with stones, clearly sourced from a nearby river, and there were trees, old delicate ones, ones that Eyvind cleverly incorporated alongside his cottage for shade and shelter against the elements. Trees aside, Eyvind’s surrounding garden was also noteworthy; half beauty, half practical—a source of food and privacy. He had even managed to erect a modest two-story barn. Birger didn’t know his brother had this in him.

It was then that Birger felt something tighten in his chest. He drew in a sharp breath and braced his body, desperate to protect himself from it. Whatever it was. He couldn’t parse what it was exactly, what he was feeling. It came suddenly, polarizing emotions—envy, delight… He gently hefted Avery onto his back and explored, trying his best to remain expressionless as Sachie had turned from the cat she was petting to watch him pass. He relaxed his face as soon as he was out of her periphery and cussed under his breath when he rounded the corner and saw the outdoor kitchen with its stump stove and cob oven; the worn table—stained and well-loved beneath an intricate wooden awning laced with vines and windchimes. Gods…

He wasn’t one to covet, but…

“Birger? That you?”

He instantly recognized the voice. A tenor like his own, the cadence, the familiarity of it. Birger turned and there was Eyvind, with Sachie behind him, expression full of concern and surprise (she hadn’t known Eyvind and Birger were twins). She slowly made her way over to Birger, looking back and forth between him and Eyvind all the while, her eyes comically wide. She walked around Birger to stand behind him, which warmed him some.

“What are you doing here?” Eyvind said. He seemed neither irritated nor happy to see his brother. Just present. He pushed up his glasses and looked aside as if holding Birger’s gaze was too challenging for him. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge Sachie.

She pinched Birger and he said, “I have a mage here who’s gone…”

“Comatose,” finished Sachie.

Eyvind rubbed at his beard and proceeded to collect the bundles of herbs and bottles of mud-like liquids that he had left on the outdoor table. His mouth twisted, an indication that he was thinking, considering.

Looking at Eyvind now confirmed what Birger had always wondered. What would his body look like if he stopped training? Apparently, he’d have gone soft. Large and soft, like a comfy bear. He didn’t mind the look. It suited Eyvind—his hair had grown long, which he braided and styled half up and half down in a common Fôtlan style.

“Your sweater…”

“Ah.” Eyvind glanced up at Birger, his expression bright. “You like? I’ve taken up knitting.”

Birger nodded. He was familiar with the pattern—the isolated black stitches against an imperfect white backdrop. It was entirely Fôtlan, and it made him nostalgic.

“I have more, if you’d care for one, though they might be a bit big on you.”

Birger smiled, and then Eyvind smiled, and then Avery slid askew off Birger’s back. Sachie scrambled forward to steady him.

“That man,” said Eyvind, tilting his chin up to gesture towards Avery, “is a Collector.”

“You say that as if it means anything to me, Eyvind. Will you help him or not?”

Eyvind stood up straighter and laughed. “Very much like you to be unbothered by the reality of your situation.”

Birger also stood up straighter. His grip tightened around Avery. “And what does that mean? Speak what’s on your mind. Plainly.”

“Whoa oookay!” Sachie came between them. “I don't know what's going on here, but I reckon there’s no need for whatever this energy is. Avery’s a Collector. Alright…that—that actually explains a lot.” She laughed, uncomfortable. “Borgy, back off, yeah? Eyvind. Nice to meet you, my name’s Sachie. Will you help our friend Avery here or have we wasted our time?”

Eyvind blinked at her as if he hadn’t anticipated that such a tiny girl could be capable of so many words. “Are you two—”

“No!” barked Sachie and Birger in unison.

“Alright.” Eyvind snorted. “I see you’re traveling light, brother.”

Birger swallowed his anger and shifted Avery. “Wouldn’t say light—probably seventy kilos or so.”

It was Sachie’s turn to snort.

Eyvind’s mouth twisted in a way that indicated that he was both amused and exasperated. “You know what I mean. Where’s your armor? You’ve only got pieces left.”

“That’s because I sold most of it.” Birger walked over to his brother. “Can you fix this mage or not?”

“Yes,” Eyvind sighed, shoulders drooping. “All these years and you only come to see me when you need something.”

“Isn’t that what family’s for?”

Eyvind watched as Birger disappeared around the corner of his cottage, then he peered over his shoulder at Sachie and asked, “Do you drink coffee?”

“Oh yeah, love the stuff.”

He narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe her, and then gestured for her to follow him. She did, silently calling the cat over to her. He ushered Birger and Sachie inside, and the cat had managed to slip in, much to his chagrin.

“Lay him down here.” Eyvind motioned to his bed beside a wall of stacked books. With Sachie’s help, Birger laid Avery down onto the lumpy mattress. Birger removed the blindfold and rubbed his hands along Avery’s stiff arms, concerned that being in this position for so long would damage his body somehow. Eyvind stole glances at his brother as he prepared coffee for them.

“Why do you wear glasses?” Sachie asked, making him jump. “Does Birger need them as well? Sometimes he squints at me.”

Eyvind tore his attention away from Birger’s tender display to look at her. “No. He has perfect vision. I had an accident with a bluelight potion…”

“That sucks.” She walked over to his round dining table and sat. “I like your place,” she said as her eyes scanned the collection of strange items on the tabletop. She reached for what she thought were cookies.

“Don’t eat those! Here.” Eyvind rummaged in his cupboard and placed a plate down and then gathered his clove cake he had baked that morning.

“The girl just ate.” Birger’s patience was dwindling. “Will you hurry up? I—”

“Well I need coffee!” Eyvind snapped, making Sachie lean back in her seat. “Coming here unannounced and demanding shit.” He smacked his lips. “Don’t piss me off, Birger, I will slice off your ears and pickle them.”

Birger frowned, and Sachie awkwardly looked down at her slice of cake.

“Now,” Eyvind sighed, his expression softening for his brother. “Would you like a cup?”

“...Yes.”

“Good. Black?”

“Yeah.”

“Never change. And you—Sachie, was it? Would you like some sugar, girls like sugar.”

She scowled, but bit her tongue. “Nah, how about some milk.”

“All I have is goat milk.”

“Black is fine.”

Eyvind poured their drinks, but didn’t bother to hand them over as he savored his own. Mollified, he proceeded to walk over to Birger and Avery—mug cradled in his two large palms. “Tatran?”

“Yes.”

“He looks like him.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He does. Got the same sort of face.”

“Not really.”

Eyvind smirked at his brother, but Birger refused to look at him. “You’ve clearly got a type.”

“I don’t.”

Sachie ate as she listened. Dying to know the lurid details.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a type.”

“Yeah? What of Bjarne?”

“Gods. Now that was a beast of a man, and a surprise; even mother supported that union.”

“Precisely why I ended it.”

Sachie interjected with, “So is Avery gonna die?”

Eyvind laughed. “Eventually yes, young one. But for now, he’s…well, as alright as a Collector can be, I suppose.” He took another sip of his coffee and set the mug onto his cluttered nightstand. He rolled up his sleeves. “Hm, if he is of a certain Tatran line…” He leaned over and pressed his thumbs to Avery’s forehead and right palm. Birger was about to protest, until he felt a surge of heat. Avery’s wards activated, and intricate patterns of golden light appeared on what could be seen of his skin. The light intensified, then petered out, fading to black, and vanishing just as quickly as they appeared.

“There,” Eyvind said. “Now I can get to work.” He picked up his coffee and walked away.

Birger went red. “Eyvind! This isn’t a game! Help him or I will—”

“You’ll WHAT. I am going to help him, you ignorant oaf!”

“Hn— Then why’re you walking away?”

Eyvind rolled his eyes so far back into his skull that it frightened Sachie. He turned on his heel to regard his brother. “Birger, do you think I just have cures laying around ready to go? That’s not how potions work. They have shelf lives. I mean how many mages—let alone Collectors—do you think I’ve roused from a catatonic state?”

“Uh—”

“Rhetorical! And none, Birger, NONE.”

Birger deflated. “But you can help him?”

“Gods’ taints! Yes! Yes. Sit. Relax. I have what he needs, I just need to make it.”

Sachie blinked, eyes darting back and forth between the twins. She’d never seen anyone talk to Birger like that before. And it was just as strange to see someone who looked like him act so…fiesty. She finished her cake and helped herself to some more.

And Eyvind did indeed get to work. He moved efficiently in his cramped workspace, pulling cloudy vials and velvet sachets from cupboards, and hefting clay pots from drawers. He slipped on an apron and proceeded to set a cooking vessel onto his little stove, expertly chopping and pulverizing and mixing as water boiled. The typical symphony of potion crafting.

“Your cake is very delicious,” Sachie said. “It makes me feel warm and happy.”

Birger frowned as he sat and hastily pulled her plate over to taste her half-eaten second helping. He grunted. “Too much clove.”

“Fuck you. And thank you Sachie.” Eyvind kept his back to them as he worked. “So, what brought you three together?”

“Sachie’s looking for the—”

She kicked Birger’s shin under the table, prompting him to glare at her.

“What was that? Looking for what?”

“Oh, just…sights. Traveling. Sightseeing.”

“That’s fun. My brother’s always wanted to do that. See the world. Glad he finally is.”

Birger smiled at that.

And Eyvind continued with, “Is he making you get that armor for him?”

Sachie tilted her head. “Armor? What—”

“Not important.” Birger said, flushing. “You said Avery was a Collector. I wish to know more.”

Unbeknownst to the two, Eyvind cocked an eyebrow, but he acquiesced. “You’re traveling with two mages and you don’t know? Collectors collect magic, Birger. All sorts of magic, from whatever style or mode they want. Nothing is off limits.”

Birger studied the crumb structure of Eyvind’s cake. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Depends on whom you ask. Tell me, what depleted his reserves?”

Birger side-eyed Sachie, unsure if she’d kick him again if he answered.

Eyvind finally turned around to look at them. “Listen. I don’t care what you three are up to. I don’t care that you’re traveling with a Collector, or that you’ve got stolen celestial equipment in that satchel of yours, young one; or that you’re technically on probation, Birger. But if you’re not somewhat honest with me, I can’t help your friend out. What did he touch?”

Sachie was chewing on her bottom lip all the while. Once she realized that Eyvind wouldn’t back off, she inhaled and said, “An orb, a celestial orb.” She wanted to ask what Eyvind meant about Birger but didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

Eyvind returned to making his concoction. “And what happened before then?”

“He came back from the dead,” Birger said.

“Ah. Blood magic.” Eyvind glanced over at the mage on his bed. “Now that’s something.”

“He was in a weakened state after that,” Sachie said.

“Yes. I’d say. It’s impressive that his wards were still intact. Coming back from the dead is an incredible feat, but I’ve never met anyone with so much… So much. If I were any other mage, I’d kill him right now.”

Birger didn’t like that. That prospect. That other mages would want Avery dead.

“But you don’t care,” Sachie said, eyes narrowed.

“Nope. I’ve dabbled outside of my mode of magic as well. I think it’s an antiquated belief—sticking to your style. But I can’t say that collecting is for me either. I don’t have the capacity for it anyhow. If your friend here goes mad, then he goes mad. I just hope you two won’t be around for that, though.”

Something sank within Birger. “Mad? You mean insane?”

Eyvind watched as his potion burbled and reduced. “Yeah.”

“I thought that wasn’t real,” Sachie said. “Just shit told to mages to scare them.”

“No, it’s true, I’m afraid.” Eyvind turned around and leaned against his counter. He crossed his arms and regarded Birger. “You look worried.”

“Of course I’m worried. Avery’s my—” He caught himself. He glanced at Sachie, then his brother. “He’s…”

“Uh huh?”

“I…” He flushed and tucked his chin down and squeezed his eyes shut.

Eyvind laughed. “Can you believe this man won our wars?” Sachie shook her head. “Don’t worry, Birger.” He turned and poured his viscous potion into a mug. “I’m going to wake up your mage, and then I’m going to have you take him to Ruslan.”

Birger lifted his head. “Take him where?”

“To the Port of Biscay. To Ruslan. Friend of mine.”

“Friend?”

“Pen pal.”

Birger made a face and Sachie snorted into her palm.

Eyvind wasn’t amused. “Your Avery’s reserves and vitals will replenish somewhat with this. But that turbulent energy swirling inside of him? I can’t fix that. We need another Collector to sort him out, remedy his mind, align his body, and Ruslan happens to be one who not only hasn’t gone mad, but instructs others on how to keep their sanity.”

For some reason this didn’t satisfy Birger. He felt agitated. “And how does he do that?”

Eyvind stirred the contents of the mug with a spoon. “Oh. Sex magic.”

Sachie choked on her spit and Birger stood up so quickly his chair fell over, prompting Eyvind to scowl at his hardwood floors. “WHAT? NO. ENOUGH.” Birger righted the chair by yanking it up and slamming it down. “Wake him up, Eyvind, and I will see how far gone he is.”

Eyvind considered his brother for a moment, still stirring. “It was—mostly—a joke, brother. Relax.”

“It’s not funny!”

“I dunno… I’m pretty tickled.”

Birger deflated once again, leaning over, hands clutching the back of the chair, trying to calm his pulse. “Eyvind.”

“Ruslan has his methods, but I’m sure he can accommodate someone who’s already spoken for.”

Birger’s mouth went dry. “Avery’s not spoken for.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Eyvind made his way over to the mage. “Sachie? Be a dear, and prop him up for me.”

She patted Birger’s hand and walked over to do as requested, sitting on the edge of the bed and shifting Avery into a more upright position.

“Birger? Would you come open his mouth? Gods know you’d probably lop my head clean off if I touched such an erogenous zone.”

“I would never,” Birger muttered, but he also did as directed, bending over Avery’s rigid form and gently prying his mouth open. “He won’t…drown, will he?”

Eyvind paused. “You know what? I don’t know.” But proceeded to slowly pour the thick contents of his mug into Avery’s mouth anyway.

It was quiet for a few beats as Eyvind poured until he glanced at Sachie. “I was thinking,” he said, not looking at her, “that you’d be better suited for bodily magic, the elements; celestial magic isn’t as useful.”

Sachie appeared offended. “Well, from what I’ve read, I reckon celestial magic is plenty useful. Divination and—”

“The stars cannot do what the earth can. They can’t heal.”

Birger watched as Sachie’s face darkened. Her nostrils flared. He turned to his brother and smacked his arm. “Leave her alone. It’s bad enough when you tease me.”

Eyvind scoffed. “I’m not teasing her. She knows it. Don’t you? How evanescent celestial magic is. Volatile. There’s a reason why it isn’t around anymore.”

Sachie’s jaw clenched and Avery sprang to life—gagging and overbreathing. He clutched at his chest and grimaced, then gaped at Eyvind, bewildered. He turned his head just enough to spot Birger, and backed away, slamming his shoulder into the wall of books beside him and disrupting their structure. Eyvind cursed and the wall came toppling down and Avery, in his panic, took the chaos as an opportunity to bolt from the bed and out of the cottage.

“Ugh…” Birger stepped away as Eyvind and Sachie tried to save what they could of his wall.

“Why did he run off like that?” Sachie asked, now on the bed, attempting to prevent any more books from collapsing.

Birger pressed his palm between his brows. “I don’t know, but I’ll go get him.” He picked up his sword and headed out. Though it was sundown, Avery wouldn’t get far; it was open land, and his clothing made him stand out even among a crowd. He spotted him past the barnyard, running zig zags, falling over and getting back up, yelping and frightening crows into flight.

Was this it? Was this the madness his brother spoke of? Birger held back tears as he unsheathed his sword. Avery—a danger to himself, a danger to others? Birger approached, slowly, eyes fixed on his back. The mage had given up running and crumpled onto the ground, folding himself into an egg, fingers locked behind his head. Birger lowered his blade as he neared. Avery was…a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type to harm others—though he’d leave no abuse unpunished, but Birger didn’t think that was reprehensible. Just fair.

“Stop!”

Birger froze at Avery’s command. “You’re alright, Av. That was just Eyvind, my brother. He woke you up. Does it hurt anywhere?”

Avery remained in his egg-like position, back to Birger. “Everywhere,” he said finally, fingers clawing at the back of his head, clutching his black hair.

“Then get up, let me take you back, here—”

“No!” Avery sprang up, wobbled, and then launched the smallest fireball that Birger had ever seen. He simply stepped aside to avoid the meager flames, which pathetically singed the grass beside him. Birger raised his sword, unsure.

Avery was a cornered animal. Eyes wide, teeth bared, shoulders high. He raised his trembling hands. “You’ll kill me, then?”

“No.”

“You’ll ship me off. To Ruslan or whatever.”

Birger wanted to say no, but now he wondered if he should. “I would accompany you. I’d stay with you, Avery, you have my word.”

“I’m not insane!” And as if realizing how deranged he looked in that moment, Avery quickly brushed the hair away from his face and adjusted his coat. He brought his hands back up and held his chin aloft in his usual haughty manner.

Birger’s eyes softened. His lips twitched as he fought against a smile. Though he kept his sword poised, he doubted the need for it. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“You haven’t a clue.” Avery swallowed, eyes misting. “I killed my stepbrother… I traded his life for my own. I died. Do you know what happened then?” A tear spilled down Avery’s cheek and Birger fought the urge to rush over and embrace him. “Birger?”

“No. Tell me.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing. No Medina awaiting. Not even your Gods or a Galmian ferryman, departed relatives. Nothing. Just darkness. A void.”

“Well…” Birger never believed in an afterlife anyway, but he understood the distraught look on Avery’s face, the tremor in his words. Fear. Disappointment. “You didn’t die, though. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see anything, because it wasn’t your time.”

The mage’s hands lowered a little as he considered his reasoning. “That is a comfort, I admit.”

“Good.” Birger smiled. “You did what you had to, Av. Emery tried to take your life, remember? You weren’t wrong for taking it back.”

Avery stared at him, glamourless. Eyelashes wet, mouth in a miserable pout. Birger was glad to see him animated again. “Now, put your hands down.”

“Not until you put your sword down.”

“I won’t until you put your hands down.”

“Why do you even have your sword out?”

“Because you ran off, and—you’re being unpredictable.”

Avery scoffed. “I only ran off because…”

Birger waited.

“Because…”

“Av,” he sighed, “why didn’t you just tell us you’re a Collector?”

Avery angrily wiped away his tears. “Neither of you asked.”

Birger’s mouth pulled into a straight line.

“What? You never said you have a twin brother!”

“Yes, I have. I’ve mentioned him multiple times.”

Avery’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall. “Whatever. Point is, you didn’t ask, so I didn’t bring it up.”

“You don’t have to keep anything from me. How you feel, what you’re experiencing. And I don’t care that you’re a Collector.”

“I’m not…and I’m not!”

Birger inhaled deeply and looked at his sword. He flicked his wrist up and down, watching as the steel caught the red sunlight, unsure of how to get Avery to calm down.

“It’s not like I know you either,” Avery muttered, arms already aching from holding his hands up.

“What would you like to know?”

“…How old are you?”

Birger thought for a moment. “Thirty-one.”

Avery narrowed his eyes. “Took you a while to answer.”

“We don’t have birthdays, it’s hard to keep track.”

“You don’t have birthdays?”

The knight shook his head no.

“Then what do you celebrate?”

“Coming of age—youth then middle age then old age.”

“Well then how do you know when those days are?”

More questions! Birger clenched his jaw. “Avery…”

But he kept his hands poised. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I’m partial to blues, Av—”

“Favorite food?”

“…That’s difficult. Stews.” Birger laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “These aren’t exactly the questions I thought you’d ask.”

Avery finally lowered his hands. His arms hung limp at his sides. “What should I be asking?”

Birger shrugged and lowered his sword.

“Aren’t you going to ask me stuff?”

“I prefer the discovering-over-the-course-of-time approach.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Hm.”

“Does that…bother you? Me being younger?”

“Why would that bother me? I figured you were around that age.”

“Why?”

Birger had had enough. He smiled, albeit wryly, and walked over to Avery. He stuck his sword into the ground and cupped the younger man’s face. “I’m glad you’re alright,” Birger said while he thumbed away the dried paths of Avery’s tears.

“I…could hear, you know, when I was comatose. I heard everything.”

“Yeah? I gathered as much.”

“And so what if you have a type? I’m superior anyhow.”

Birger nodded as he leaned in to kiss him. “That you are.”

But Avery pulled back slightly and said, “I never brought up the Collector stuff because I hate being called that. I hate labels. Prince. Man. Tatran. Collector. I’m just Avery.”

“Fair enough.”

“And—before you kiss me…”

Birger looked concerned.

“I’d go anywhere with you…The edge of the world, where there’s midnight sun and months of night… I’d follow you. I’d keep you warm.”

Birger smiled, wholeheartedly, in a way that exhilarated Avery. He swiped his thumb across Avery’s lips, marveling at how soft they were, then closed his eyes and dipped his head, and Avery kissed him.

***

“I’ve decided to pay this Ruslan a visit,” Avery announced as he shoveled generous forkfuls of roasted vegetables into his mouth.

Eyvind nodded. “Good. You can stay the night here and head out tomorrow. But I only have one spare cot—”

“Dibs!” Sachie said, raising her hand.

“Well, she called dibs, so I guess you two will have to sleep in the barn.”

Avery made a face, but Birger didn't mind one way or another.

“Alright,” Avery sighed, and sat back, hands on his belly. The color had returned to his face, though his eyes looked tired. “What’s the deal with this guy?”

The question caught Eyvind mid-bite. “Who? Ruslan? He was a former Master of Books at the Grand Library of Mouseion. I think you can fill in the blanks. An insatiable mage residing in the capital of knowledge, Urnia’s house of magic… He started some trouble, some would say a cult, and thanks to him, mages aren’t allowed to work there anymore. He’s the one who gave Collectors a bad rep.”

Avery had heard of that, the incident in Mouseion…though the name was Ruslana.

“I’ll write a letter,” Eyvind said, “explaining everything, just hand it over and I’m sure he’ll open his home to the three of you. Real lonely, that one.”

They ate and chatted until the candles burned low. Sachie was the first to tap out, falling asleep on Eyvind’s bed, much to his annoyance. He showed Avery and Birger to the loft inside his barn. “It’s not much, sorry,” he said, handing over blankets, with an extra sweater folded on top.

Birger smiled. “We’ll manage.”

Now wearing the sweater, Birger arranged the blankets and then hunkered down, pulling out his small sewing kit to darn his socks while Avery sorted through his magical storage.

“I think I lost a few books,” Avery said after a while. “Maybe some clothing…” He sighed, despondent, and flopped down. He watched Birger’s hands. “I can magic those for you.”

“No need. This works just fine and I find it relaxing.”

Avery snorted and crawled over. He stopped Birger’s mending, pulling his hands apart to straddle his lap. “I can think of better ways to relax.”

Birger smiled and leaned back against the mound of hay behind him. “Not exactly a relaxing activity, though, is it?”

“It will be, for you,” Avery said, pulling his hair up into a bun, but this time Birger stopped his hands.

“Keep it down.”

Avery gave a mischievous, hungry sort of laugh; it bubbled up as he bit down on his bottom lip, smiling around it. He pawed at Birger’s broad chest, which looked incredible in Eyvind’s sweater, but the knight gently grabbed his wrists, twisting him on his lap, so that Avery sat with his back to him.

The mage was confused, but then that wicked glint returned to his eye as he angled his head to kiss him. Birger indulged him, holding him as he savored the feel of Avery’s full lips and his soft tongue. They remained like that for a moment, kissing, until Avery took Birger’s hand and guided it down his body, past his waistband. And again Birger indulged him, stroking him under the fine fabric of his trousers, heat rising in the two of them.

“Av?”

“Mmm…mm?”

“Does intimacy make you uncomfortable?”

Avery laughed, low, breathless, thighs parting, and chest expanding with an amorous sigh as Birger pleasured him. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? Being intimate.”

“Yes…in a sense…” Birger pulled his hand out so Avery could focus, but all it prompted was an irritated whine. “I mean…” What did he mean? How could he explain? He wrapped his arms around Avery once more and pulled him to his chest so that they were reclined together. The mage went rigid, but then he relaxed and melted against him. “I’ve…”

Avery placed his hand over Birger’s. “What’s wrong? Is it me?”

“No, and nothing’s wrong, just… I enjoy having sex with you, Av—a lot, maybe too much…” He laughed and rested his chin on top of the mage’s head. “But I want more than that. I want us to be comfortable around each other. Feel and experience things other than pleasure.” He felt Avery stiffen in his arms again, like a terrified cat ready to bolt, causing Birger to reflexively hold him tighter. But then he relaxed, unwilling to make Avery partake in anything that he felt uncomfortable doing. “It was solely pleasure with Einar,” Birger explained. “We never grew past that.”

Avery didn’t say anything for a long while and he regretted bringing it up and mentioning Einar’s name.

“I like pleasure,” Avery said, just as Birger was starting to emotionally implode. The mage turned sideways and draped his arms around his shoulders, fingers idly playing with the long hair at the nape of his neck. “But I also really, really like you.” He smiled, shy, and cupped Birger’s cheek. “You’re…unlike any man I’ve known. At first I thought you were…” He shrugged. “Cold, unfeeling, but you’re not. You feel so much, and that’s incredibly sexy. I’d like to grow with you. I want to understand intimacy—as you see it.” He blushed and looked away, lips pursed as if he regretted saying all of that.

But for Birger, it meant everything. Whatever hate, whatever resentment, that desire for vengeance, it all seemed so pointless to him right then. Though Avery’s willingness didn’t fully dissipate those feelings, it lessened their hold on him as he embraced him—this odd, fashionable being made of magic—and kissed him.