Spin . Revolution 9

Chapter Thirty-Three:
In Which Travis Is Cautious and Rather Intelligent (and then a little brave and stupid)

That morning, Travis awoke to find the cottage oddly empty.  Usually he could hear Ayleigh downstairs making breakfast, or hitting the ceiling with a broomstick to make him get out of bed if it was a school day.  Maybe now that Damien was back, they were talking in the library, or something more private.  Travis made a face.  He still wasn't fond of the idea, but he was probably going to have to get used to it.

As long as he didn't have to go back to school when this was over.

He got dressed, put on a pair of nearly new boots he'd gotten as an early birthday present, and then left his room to check on Orah.  She wasn't there.  The bed was neatly made, and her haversack was lying at the foot of it, so she hadn't left…

Gnawing on his lip, he tromped down the stairs.  "Orah?"

"I'm right here, you don't have to holler like that."  She stood by the small end table, holding a note.  "It's about time you got up."

He blushed guiltily.  "Sorry.  What's the note say?"

She put it on the table, then looked at him with a bright smile that stole his breath.  "Nothing.  But I think we've got a chance to beat Tag and Damien to the place they're going to summon Grudy at."

"Oh yeah, the boulder ring.  That's where I go to think sometimes."  He lead her out onto the porch, then shut the door behind him.  "Are we supposed to help?"

The look on her face was different from most he'd seen, from Orah, anyway.  It was a mischievous and irreverent crooked grin.  "Technically?  No.  Come on."

He followed her dumbly, still trying to figure out what was going on with her and with the plan she'd laid out before.  Neither of them had been mentioned in the plan, even though Orah had been the one lining it out for him.  "If we aren't part of the plan, then won't we muck it up?"

"Of course not," she scoffed.  "Don't be ridiculous.  We'll just hide in the boulder ring and watch for signs of trouble."  Her legs were shorter than his, so it wasn't too hard to catch up, even though she was practically running.

They reached the boulders in record time; it was too early in the morning to think that anyone would be awake to stop them.  Travis made her stop to let him catch his breath before helping her over the rocks, but other than that, few words passed between them.  Orah was absorbed with her illicit role in the plan, and Travis was just nervous.

He was nervous about accidentally ruining the plan, nervous to share his tiny sanctuary with the beautiful lady he had been so apt to daydream about, and most of all, nervous that he was going to mess up and declare his feelings before he was old enough to be taken seriously.  He'd come close to it several times already.

"This is perfect, we can see through this gap here," she said, taking his arm and pulling him to the indicated spot.  "They should be here soon."  She was out of breath, and he could hear her heart pounding from running all this way.  His heart was pounding just as fast, though for additional reasons.

"Great," he said shakily.

They sat to wait, making a breakfast by sharing the rations and water he kept there.  It wasn't long before they heard approaching footsteps and voices.  Orah crawled to the sliver of a gap in the rocks and reached back to motion for Travis.  He shook his head, he didn't want to see.  He was too anxious for this to be over, for Tag to finally be Tag again.  If it meant having to share his beloved parent with Damien, so be it, so long as all the awfulness ended and Travis didn't have to go back to that pig-ignorant school.

He heard Damien talking about his brothers and something about Grudy being an idiot.  Then the crackling of a fire, and several smells filled the air, only one of which he recognized, though he couldn't name even that one.  Later, he could ask Orah what they were.  Thinking of it made him smile at her lovely back.

A small pop sounded out over the fire, as if someone had stuck a finger in their mouth and twitched it out in just the right way.  Travis strained his ears, but could only make out the crackle of the fire and a very soft hum.  Then Grudy started on about weddings and how wonderful it all was.  Travis made a face and waited for her to stop talking.

Damien argued with her, although some of that was hard to make out over the noise of the fire and the rocks just being in the way.

"I won't!" Ayleigh shouted.  Travis wondered why, then figured they were still just arguing about weddings.

Then he heard Damien say, quite clearly, "What do I have to do to make you change Tag back?"

Travis could just imagine the haughty look on the fairy godmother's face at this question.  He patted Orah's shoulder, and she moved a bit to the side so he could see.  He crouched next to her, repressing a blush, and peeked.

There she was, the nasty fairy godmother with exactly the expression he'd expected.  She tapped her round chin with her fingers.  "You do so seem to have your heart set on it," she said thoughtfully.  "But you really won't come back to Carnavan?"

With some difficulty, Travis angled his head to get a look at Damien and Ayleigh.  Damien looked older, even a little kingly.  Travis decided he liked him better as a king sort than a prince sort, if only a bit.  Damien nodded, a grim look of determination on his face that was a bit funny combined with the beard.  "I'm not going back.  I can do more outside the kingdom than in it."

That was a good line.  Travis moved back to let Orah have the view to herself, then sat a little ways away to rub his chin.  That was a very good line.  A sap like Grudy would eat it right up.

Sure enough, he heard her say, "Very well then, noble Prince Damien.  I will return your love's deepling essence."  There was hardly a sneer to her voice.  The line had worked wonders.  "But you must promise me a boon."

"Of course," Damien said immediately.  "Anything—within reason."

Good move.  Promising anything was always stupid.

An outlandishly impressive display of lights flashed so much some of it could be seen over the boulders, accompanied by lilting violin music.  Travis yawned, glad that he was sitting comfortably away from the peephole.  It was over in a moment, and he could have jumped for joy at the sound of Tag shouting happily.

"I'm me again!  Darkness's sake, this feels bloody great!!"

Travis hugged himself happily.  Everything was alright now.

Then Grudy cleared her throat, making an ugly racket, as though she were preparing to be sick.  "My boon, Prince Damien."

"Yes, yes, but be reasonable," he answered, and Travis nearly giggled, thinking how annoying it must be to have someone interrupt a lover's embrace with such a disgusting noise.  He made a mental note to pull such a trick at some future time.

Grudy's voice rang out much louder than it had been.  "Ah, my dearest prince.  Revenge is always reasonable."

A blue light shot down into the ring, so bright that Travis jerked away from it, only to hit his back against one of the boulders.  The light grabbed Orah like a shapeless hand, then lifted her into the air.  Travis tried to cry out, but only a croak escaped him.

Then another, more tormented and irate croak escaped Orah.

Blind with rage and sickening dread, Travis leapt forward.  She was too high to reach, and the blue light carried her out of the ring, to where the others were.  Travis landed on the dirt, scraping his face and arms.

He was winded, but that didn't stop him from scrambling back up and nearly killing himself in his rush to get over the rocks.  For a second, he felt a rush of tearful relief upon seeing Tag's old familiar self standing next to Damien, both of them enraged—then he followed their gaze to where Grudy held Orah floating in a blue sphere.  The healer had been changed into a toad, bigger and uglier than the last time, and as far as toads could look infuriated, she was managing it.

Travis wanted very much to break down and cry.  "Let her go!" he bellowed.

"I will have revenge," the fairy godmother said calmly, although her left eyebrow was twitching.  "This impudent girl—"

"She's a princess!" he cried.  He had no idea what he was doing, but it was the only thing he could think of.

Grudy just sneered.  "Merely spawn of a princess fallen into peasantry.  Pathetic."

"Still a princess, Grudy," Damien put in.  "You can play it down as much as you like, but that won't change it."

This didn't work either.  She spun her wand idly, twirling Orah and the light in a spiral that made Travis's stomach lurch in sympathy.  He could feel itchy tears rolling down his cheeks and neck, cutting damp paths through the dirt.

Mouth set in a ghastly scowl, he grabbed the bag of devouring off of Tag's belt and shoved it towards Grudy.  "Do you know what this is?" he asked, still clenching his teeth.

She blanched, and the spinning stopped.  "Yes," she answered, her voice shaking.

He loosened the drawstring, treating the bag with a bit more gentleness.  "Then you know what it can do."

"Why isn't it eating you?!" she half-shrieked, moving back slowly.

He grinned, knowing it was just as ghastly as his previous expression.  He could feel Tag worrying behind him, but sensed no disapproval.  This was desperately stupid, but a better plan than any other they might have gone with.  He loosened the drawstring more, letting the bag open enough that Grudy could glimpse the oblivion inside.  "I fed it an edicada," he said, still grinning.  "It likes me."

As if to prove his statement, the bag purred.  Grudy screamed.  The blue light holding Orah up blinked out, and she began to fall, too stunned to croak.

Tossing the bag of devouring to Tag, Travis ran to catch Orah.  He skinned his knees to the point of tearing his pants and the skin under them, and he came dangerously close to knocking himself out on one of the boulders, but he caught her.

When he sat up, cradling her to him, he saw that Tag had taken up the role he'd abandoned.  The bag was gnashing its opening now, although Travis could tell that it was only teasing.  Grudy obviously couldn't tell at all, she sat weeping on the ground, begging to be spared.

If he'd known how to change Orah back himself, Travis would have voted to let the bag eat her.  But he was in a spiteful mood.  Grunting with the effort, he got himself to his feet, then stumbled over to her.  "Change her back," he said, his voice hoarse from shouting and panicking.

She looked up at him miserably.  "It's too strong a spell," she whined, "I can't do it."

He nearly shoved her into the bag with his free hand.  Then, of all people, Damien came up beside him and lay a caring hand on his shoulder.  Travis looked up at him, then back at Orah, and then he burst into tears.

"You'll have to do it…"

He didn't stop crying, but he did try to shut himself up.  "H-how?" he asked, with a bit of trouble.

Grudy's face was streaked with tears of her own, and he actually felt a bit sorry for her.  She was just doing things the way she knew how to do them.  But she had still attacked the lady who meant the most to him.  "Kiss her, of course."

Another hand came down on his shoulder, just as comforting as Damien's, if not more.  Tag had tied up the bag and put it back on his belt.  "Travis isn't a prince," he said, his voice flat and sad.

"He is a deserving youth," Grudy retorted, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

Travis could have laughed in her face.  'Deserving youth', right.  Then he looked down at the silent toad in his arms.  It was worth a shot, wasn't it?  And it'd be something to remember when he got old and crooked, that his first kiss had been given to a toad.

He licked his lips, then planted a self-conscious kiss on the slimy creature.

The slimy feeling vanished almost at once, leaving soft, warm skin.  He could feel Orah cozying perfectly up against him, his arms settled in a relaxed manner around her waist.  He moved back to look at her face, and saw that she was smiling.

"That's my forehead, genius," she whispered.  Then she pulled him down to kiss her mouth.



Chapter Thirty-Four:
In Which Tag Is Embarrassed

Proud of his little charge, Tag slipped his hand into Damien's and lead the man away from the two kids.  Nothing could cramp one's style worse than a parent who didn't know when to scram, after all.  They ambled about without much sense of direction, doing goony things like staring happily at each other and walking very close together, and Tag found he didn't mind the sap much at all.  In fact, he rather liked it.

They eventually wandered into the city proper, where Tag was inclined to pull his hand away.  He and Travis had been in Bonifane for some time now, and while it wasn't highly likely that anyone would recognize him and ask questions, it was guaranteed that anyone and everyone would goggle at them.  It wasn't any of their business who he chose to grace his affections to, and discretion was the better part of valor.  Besides, he wasn't in a hurry to catch the eyes of a crowd of angry men demanding to know where Ayleigh went.  It would be best not to draw any attention to himself.

Unfortunately, Damien was not of the same mind.  When his hand was released and Tag moved away, Damien actually maneuvered an arm around his waist.  Before Tag could think of a way to quietly explain that later would be a much better time for things like that, Damien whisked him around and caught him in a literally uplifting hug.

Laughing in spite of himself, Tag let him have his fun for a moment.  It would have been difficult to do otherwise.  Damien grinned broadly, but didn't move in for an absurdly public kiss.  Instead, he rubbed Tag's back and said, "I owe you flowers, don't I?"

A little dazed from all the romantic behavior, Tag blinked to clear his head.  "Flowers?"

"Like a proper suitor."

Another second of confused silence, and then he chuckled and looked away.  "So you remember that…"  His cheeks felt hot, there were more and more people pouring into the market now, and most of them were already staring hard at them.  A few semi-familiar jaws scraped the ground, many of which belonged to 'Ayleigh's' former suitors.

Whispers abounded, but Damien didn't even seem tempted to glace away from Tag.  He set him down, but then took his hands, both of them, and drew him over to a flower stall.  It was three and a half steps.  Tag was able to count them precisely, he was looking at his feet the whole time.  

He was still looking at his feet when Damien handed him a small, rather surreptitious bouquet of violets.  More a bundle than a bouquet, there was nothing at all ostentatious about it.  The flowers were tied with string rather than ribbon, and they weren't in any special arrangement.  Tag looked up at him, knowing his face was a brilliant shade of pink, and failed to refuse the flowers.  They felt cool in his hands.

"Thank you," he mumbled, turning them over in his hands, absolutely determined not to smell them or clasp them to his chest like a girl.  He had been joking, he'd never thought that Damien would seriously give him flowers.  What was he supposed to do with them? "Do you know that flowers all have different meanings?" he asked, stalling for time.  He hoped he wasn't expected to weave them into his hair.

He looked up in time to see Damien nod, a less goony smile on his face.  "Violets are for faithfulness."

Tag had known that.  He tried to hand the flowers back, saying, "I can't promise you that…"

But Damien stayed his hand, gently closing his fingers around the flowers.  "I'm not asking you to."

"Then…"

He sighed, then shook his head the way Tag sometimes did at Travis.  "You are what you are, and I'm not going to ask you to stop being that.  I'm not asking for faithfulness Tag, I'm offering it."

While Tag ran this over in his head, he considered all the things it could possibly mean.  His mouth went on automatically, without much input from him.  "This is…  You're going to stay with me.  Even if I'm always running off to women."

"If you'll let me…"  Damien looked adorably anxious, but he still didn't pay any mind to the growing crowd of gossipmongers.  "I need to ask you something, formally."  He moved back a bit, still holding one of Tag's hands.

Tag panicked.  "What are you doing?"

"Will you—"

"Please don't...!"  He was frozen in place, clutching the violets too tightly in one hand, while the other lay limp and cold as a dead fish in Damien's warm, inopportunely tender hand.  All of those suitors had made him fear this sort of discussion twice as much, and he definitely didn't want to have it with Damien.  He really liked Damien.  "We just went through all this.  Just let it alone…"

The hand holding his tightened and drew him closer.  Damien lifted his chin, cutting through resistance with a gentle determination.  "You're jumping to conclusions so quickly, you've left me behind," he said, his voice low and almost laughing.  "I'm trying to ask, will you stay with me so we can figure this out?"

"Huh?"

"Go off with all the women you like," he went on, "just… come back to me after."

The pleading in his eyes made it hard to breathe and impossible to speak.  Tag considered the proposal, quite a different one than he'd expected.  He thought about how things had changed since they'd met, how much he'd missed Damien while they'd been apart, the way he'd looked last night… "Are you sure you really want me?  This way?"

Damien laughed and kissed him, then pulled away far too quickly.  "Do you still think you need to ask?"

Blushing hotly, and beginning to remember just how many people were watching and whispering, Tag tucked his burning face into the space between Damien's chin and chest.  "No…" he whispered.

"Will you stay with me?"

It was commitment, in a way, but it wasn't marriage.  Tag remained as he was, eyes closed to block out their audience.  "I will."



Chapter Thirty-five:
In Which Damien Relates to Travis

Back at the cottage, Damien had discovered the library.  He sat in the middle of a half-circle of books, five of them open in front of him.  He dragged his finger down a page, marveling silently.  He'd probably been there for at least an hour, his knees were complaining about his sitting position, and his neck was sore from leaning over book after book.

Tag was sitting in one of the armchairs, dozing lightly with an open volume of plays in his lap.  He'd fallen asleep some time ago, but Damien hadn't gotten up to take him to bed yet.  He'd do it as soon as he finished this book.

The door opened with hardly a creak, and a pair of sock-covered feet crept over to Damien and his reading pile.  He looked up.  "Oh, hello, Travis.  How are you?"

Travis sat on the floor and picked up a book entitled Countercurses For Advanced Students.  "Orah's upstairs, sleeping off the magic."

"I think Tag is doing the same."  Damien marked his place, then started closing books and setting them aside.  "I was just about to get him into bed."

"Good."  Travis shelved the books with impressive speed.  "He hasn't slept well since… you know."  He kept his back turned, gripping the shelves.  "What's going to happen now?"

Damien set Tag's book aside and lifted him tenderly out of the chair.  "I'm going to take care of him now, and…"  He paused, considering his words carefully.  "Do you think we could be friends?"

"Ha!  You're taking my only family away and you wanna be my friend."  Travis didn't turn around.  "Tough toenails.  You can feel bad about it forever, I'm not gonna make you feel better."

"…What?"  A tingle shivered under Damien's skin as Tag reached up to hug his neck, still snoozing peacefully.  "I think you've gotten confused…"

"You said you're gonna 'take care of him'.  I know what that means."

He shifted the lovely sleeper in his arms and started walking.  "Whatever that is, it isn't what I mean."  Sidling carefully past a few bookshelves, he made his way to the door.

Travis hurried forward to open it.  "Then what do you mean?"

"Simply that…" Damien blushed, he hadn't really considered that he would have to explain himself.  "That I'm going to go with you guys, and I'll probably…"  As he trailed off, he started up the stairs, clutching Tag to his chest.

"I know."  Travis lumbered up the stairs behind him.  "You love him or something."

Damien had to bite his lip to repress a laugh.  "Or something."  He hoisted Tag a bit to the left so he could open the bedroom door.  It felt odd to be doing something so ordinary—even odder to be more or less living in a house.

Travis waited by the open door, watching with a hawk's concentration.  As if to prove his purer intentions, Damien lay Tag on the bed and tucked him in without so much as a kiss on the forehead.  There would be time enough for that later, and he didn't want to pick a fight with the suspicious youth standing guard.

He closed the door as he stepped back out into the hall.  "How long do you think they'll sleep?" he asked Travis, who had moved to lean against the wall, and was affecting nonchalance.

The boy shrugged.  "Are you in a hurry or something?"

"I just wanted to know if you thought we should hold off making dinner."  Damien breezed past him.  There had been times when Travis had reminded him of Frojd.  This wasn't one of them.  Frojd had always looked upon him with occasionally annoying hero worship.

At the moment, Travis was looking at him like a constable about to arrest a criminal.  "Maybe.  Are you making it, Mr. Caretaker?"

Although it was tempting to pinch the boy's cheeks and say something granny-like, Damien put his hands behind his back and started down the hall to the stairs.  "I can cook if you don't feel like doing it."

"Do you even know how?"

He had to allow himself a chuckle at the incredulity in Travis's voice.  "You watched me cook when we were traveling together."

Travis's face turned red, and his expression soured even more.  "Cooking in a real kitchen is different from sticking a side of meat over a campfire."

They went into the kitchen, and Damien was inclined to agree.  Pots, pans, and various equipment he couldn't put a name or purpose to hung everywhere.  There were more in the cabinets.  He knelt in front of one, then closed it quietly.  "Okay," he said, embarrassed but amiable.  "I'll admit I overestimated myself."

This seemed to put Travis in a better mood.  He smiled smugly, then began marching around the kitchen, taking out various paraphernalia and ingredients with such an impressive display of confidence that Damien couldn't help admiring the sheer cheek of it all.  Rather than just stand there like a lemon, he set to making a fire in the obviously appropriate place.

Travis set a pot of water to boil over it.  "Stew takes a while," he said as he started peeling potatoes.  "And it's really easy."

Picking up a second paring knife, Damien gave his friendliest smile, partially out of relief, and began peeling potatoes as well.  "You're very dependable, aren't you?"

To his surprise, the boy hunched his shoulders, presumably to hide his reddening ears.  "I'm not," he muttered.  "I'm always getting in trouble, and before you came…"  He delivered a few savage chops to a helpless naked potato.  "Ayleigh got sick.  And I was just useless.  Running around like a headless chicken, with about as much sense.  I could barely get her to take a glass of water."

Damien patted his shoulder in a brotherly way, leaving potato-juice fingerprints on his shirt.  "That wasn't your fault.  Some people are hard to care for when they're sick."

Although he shrugged the hand away, Travis didn't storm off.  "Tag is hard to take care of, all the time.  And he gets cranky when he's sick…"  He dropped the sliced potatoes into the pot.  "How do you know about sick people?  I thought royalty didn't get sick."

After contemplating quietly for a moment, Damien decided it would be alright to talk about his family.  "When I was growing up, my mother was often ill.  She…" he chuckled as he pumped water into the sink.  "She was more than cranky.  Once, she had such a high fever, she was sentencing her bedposts to life in the dungeons."

Travis snickered, perhaps imagining this.  "So basically you're trying to tell me it's like that for anyone, right?"

Damien sliced a haunch of beef into what he hoped were the right sort of pieces.  "Pretty much.  I was sick for a while after Grudy… did what she did."  He dumped the meat into the pot and then went to wash his hands.  "I blamed myself.  Not just for some of it, but all of it."

There was a moment in which the only sound in the room was that of the simmering dinner and the plop of ingredients breaking through the surface of the water.  Then Travis cleared his throat in a rather exaggerated way.  "It wasn't all your fault," he said at last.  "I mean, you didn't ever say you wanted Tag to be a girl."  He handed Damien a couple of carrots and set to dicing an onion.

A vague childhood memory advised Damien to peel the carrots after washing them.  As he did so, he listened for any sign of rising sleepers.

"I was only mad because I thought you were going to marry Tag."

He wiped his eyes and moved away from Travis and the onion.  "No, I don't think I could ever convince him to do that, even if I wanted to."  He had a bit of fun inventing his own way to reduce the carrots to tiny pieces.  "The important part of anything is to be happy, right?"

Travis separated the onion bits so that no clumps fell into the stew as he added them in.  "I guess so.  I never really thought about it."

"Well, Tag makes me happy, and I think I can make him happy," Damien said, hoping the doubt he felt over the last half of his statement wasn't overly noticeable.  "So I'm chasing that, even if it kills me."  Which it conceivably could, he had to admit.

Travis chewed on the knuckle of his thumb, watching the stew bubble as he stirred it with a long spoon.  "Orah makes me happy," he said, barely audible over the simmering.  "But I'm still a kid."

"Kids grow up."

He pulled the spoon out and set it on the cutting board, with a grin that made him look like a monkey.  "I turn eighteen next Ironbensday," he said proudly.  "And I wanted to ask her if she'd… you know.  Let me make her happy."

Hearing his own words taken in and paraphrased gave Damien and internal glow that surpassed the heat of the kitchen.  "Good for you," was all he could say past the mountainous smiling taking over his face.

"Do you think she'll say yes?"

"Of course she will.  Unless that was someone else I saw kissing her by the ring of boulders," Damien said, allowing himself just a bit of wicked teasing.

Travis kicked him in a way that Damien hoped was friendly, as the boy was laughing and it didn't hurt too much.  Then Travis returned his attention to the soup, stirring in the carrots.

"I think it'll be ready soon.  Will you go and get them?"

Damien wiped his hands on a dishcloth.  "No, you did most of the work here.  I should clean up."  He winked, mildly shocked that he felt so comfortable now.  "That's something I do know how to do."

Travis laughed again, a bit more derisive, but mostly harmless, then bounded out of the kitchen.  The thumps as he continued his bound up the stairs made Damien wince, but he let it alone as he cleared away trash and set the table.



Chapter Thirty-six:
In Which Orah Doesn't Need to Apologize

She lay back on the pillows, savoring the sunlight that was leaning through the window to caress her knees.  It was strange just to be where she was, but she giggled at absolutely nothing and thanked every possible thing, star, deity, hell, even the silly old moon—she thanked everything that she had left the healing house.

There were so many things to see.  Never mind the danger, she barely had to think about it.  Travis could help her learn how to use her dagger properly, and while she worked on that, she could count on him.  She'd been self-reliant for so long, she'd never realized that depending on someone else for something could be nice.

Repressing a yawn, she swung her legs out from under the covers and onto the floor.  She wondered what time it was.  Late afternoon, definitely, evening, maybe.  As she walked down the hall to peek into Travis's room, she heard voices floating up through the floor.  One definitely belonged to Travis, and after a moment of careful listening, she could hear Damien answering.  However, Tag didn't seem to be with them.

Curious, she knocked on the door to the incubus's room.  A languid, "Come in, if you like," was reason enough to open the door.  She left it open wide enough to be cautious, but not enough to seem rude.

The room bore little decoration.  There were books stacked on the nightstand, spilling onto the floor around it.  A framed painting of a dragon formed out of river water hung by an end table with a basin and pitcher.  Tag was stretched out on the unexpectedly simple bed, limbs and hair in disarray.  He propped his head up on his arms and smiled sleepily at the world.

His smile faded into a disappointed frown when his eyes lit on Orah.  "Do you need something?"

"Not really," she said, making a point of looking around as she seated herself on something that looked like a hope chest.  "Our men are downstairs."

He dropped his face into the mattress, apparently to muffle a laugh.  "Nicely put, healer."

"I have a name," she snapped, grimacing at the top of his head.

When he looked up again, his face was red from smushing it into the bed.  He sat up, entangling himself further in the sheets, and pushed his hair out of his eyes.  "I know.  I'm sure it's a lovely name, but dear heart, I can barely remember mine at the moment."  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Orah bit her tongue before she could make any snide remarks about how excusable a poor memory for names would be for someone like him.  It was such a shame that Damien and Travis were so devoted to the vagabond.  He was worse than a cat, practically kneading the sheets as he freed himself from them.

"Right."  He yawned, stretched, then flopped onto the little construct of pillows.  There were at least six of them.  "Where's everyone else?"

"Downstairs.  I told you already."

"Naturally… I'm sorry, I seem to be having some trouble waking myself."  He sat up again.  "I haven't been on the receiving end of so much magic since…" he chuckled.  "I guess since Grudy met me the first time.  How are you handling it?"

Admittedly taken aback by the sudden lucidity, not to mention friendliness, Orah defaulted to her best professional manner and replied, "As well as I can, thank you."

Tag waved an impatient hand at her.  "Now, now.  You may be my guest, but you mustn't be so stiff and formal."  He got to his feet and stretched a final time, then tidied his hair little.

"It's difficult to know how to act with you," Orah confessed, sounding more confident than she felt.  "Any of you."

"Really?  I find that hard to believe.  You get on just fine with Damien."  He winked almost garishly.  "And you could spit and Travis would call it lady-like."

Orah felt that she should have blushed, but it seemed a little pointless at this stage.  They'd all been there for her rather public display of affection.  She could hardly putter out embarrassed denials after that.  "He said he wanted to ask me something on Ironbensday," she said casually, wondering what effect it would have on Tag.

If she'd expected or hoped for surprise, she was sorely disappointed.  Tag just continued to smile as he nodded.  "I thought he might.  Travis isn't the most impressive thinker, but he can be amusingly direct.  Except for when he used to bite."  He winced.  "That was never very amusing."

"Why did you take him in?"  In the same situation, Orah wouldn't have done any different, but she and Tag were hardly what anyone would call similar.

He walked towards the basin and poured some water into it.  "What else could I have done?  Not send him back to his home, he would have just ended up an idiot, or a dead idiot."

"You could have taken him to an orphanage," she pointed out.  She wasn't certain whether he would scoff at the idea or start rethinking his decision.

To her immense relief, he scoffed.  "Orphanage?  Tell me you could look into any little kid's face and say, 'Alright, I have to dump you in an orphan pit, so please stop hugging me so tightly.' Right."  He splashed his face, then held his dripping head over the basin.  "I'm an old softie."

"Why do you say that?"

"First off, because it's true," he said, then wiped his face dry with a rough-looking washcloth.  "And second, because I let the little scoundrel win me over with a missing-tooth grin and big eyes.  I'm not supposed to be that easily persuaded."

Orah pulled her feet onto the chest and set her chin on her knees, grinning.  "You're such a mommy."

He spun to glare at her, but his anger couldn't hold up for long under her relentless grin.  He sighed and sat down hard on the threadbare rug.  "I am, I know…  I have been for a long time now."

"Are you sorry for it?"

"No bloody way."

"Not ever?"

"Look, do you want me to be sorry?"  He narrowed his eyes at her, one slightly narrower than the other.

She giggled.  "I'm sure there's something you should be sorry for…"

"Right now I'm sorry my little boy had to go and fall for you."  He gave an exaggerated sigh.  "All the empty-headed young people he could have made eyes at, and he had to choose someone intelligent."

"Also witty.  Don't forget that one."

"Fine, witty as well, if you like."  Tag was doing a very poor job of hiding a grudging smile.  "You aren't that bad, though.  I suppose."

She preened, just to annoy him.  It didn't really work, but she hoped she got her meaning across.  "You know, if you're ever irritated with us—Travis, me, even Damien—you have only yourself to blame."

He stared at her in confusion.  "How so?  I understand what you mean about Travis and Damien, but how is your presence my fault?"

"Nice wording," she said, a bit resentfully.  "Just think for a second.  You could have sent me off on my way any time.  It's not as if I hired you as bodyguards."

He grimaced, and she wondered if he hadn't even thought to turn her away.  "I really am as soft as peat moss, aren't I?"  Then he glanced at the book-covered nightstand by his bed.

Orah followed his gaze.  At first all she saw were the books, some of them rather precariously balanced.  Then, after a moment of curious searching and craning her neck, she caught a tiny glimpse of purple and green.

Before Tag could catch her at it, she jumped up to grab the flowers.  He jumped up and then simply stood there, dumbfounded and flushed a dark red as she rescued a somewhat wilted bunch of violets from a little cave made of books.  "Bet I can guess where these came from," she sang, waving them about in a gentle arc from side to side.

He snatched them away and hid them behind his back.  "Cut it out," he growled.  "It's none of—"

"Aw, but if you're going to be my mother-in-law, we should be each other's confidants."  Orah's cheeks were starting to ache dully from grinning so much, but it was worth it.  Tag stared at her with his mouth open, and she supposed it was a testament to his 'softness' that he did not drop the violets.

As sweet a sentiment as that might have been, he didn't show any sign that he realized it.  "You did not just say what I think you said!"

"Oh, already getting hard of hearing, old Mother?  I can repeat myself louder, if you like."  Her eyes were twinkling, she knew, it was only a question of how long it would take Tag to get the joke and relax.

He seemed more shocked than fuming, which, of course, was much funnier.  He stumbled to the back to the bed and used it to hold himself up.  After a few deep breaths, he looked up with a rueful smile.  "You're as wicked as I am."

"What flattery," she purred, thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Hello?  Hey, you're both up."

She turned around to see Travis leaning in the doorway, a specific smile for each of them.  The one for her, she thought smugly, was the nicer-looking, and she returned it readily.  "Hello," she said, "I was just picking on your mum."

Tag tossed one of the pillows at her while Travis laughed so hard he had to lean on the wall.  Orah picked up a pillow weapon for herself, and set about Tag with it.  Travis came and grabbed her by the waist, to rescue his parent, presumably, but with, she thought, the ulterior motive of just wanting to hug her.

She glanced at the doorway and saw that Damien had come to join them.  He had crowned himself with a wreath made of woven violets, and was smiling innocently at them.  "Dinner's ready," he said.

Even redder than before, Tag threw a pillow at him, knocking the wreath off his head.  Then he tried to say something, but he was too busy laughing and shaking his head.

The days would continue to turn in a dizzying spiral; Orah could already feel the time twirling.  She couldn't have chosen better company to spin with.