Chapter Twenty-Six: What’s Already Here

At great length, Cemil let himself be convinced that the village could defend itself from overnight attacks. Or at least, that the Anshan had no desire for them to patrol the streets like some kind of occupying force. Tomorrow, they would survey the area around the cliffside and try to observe the creatures in their present state. That was the plan, anyway.

Osmund briefly saw some of the other soldiers as Cemil gathered them up to spread the word. Once again, the mood had changed. Rather than marching to their doom to defend these thankless heathens unworthy of the name “Meskato”, their miniature army was now on holiday, and free to enjoy the town however they wished. On the docket for tomorrow: gryphon-viewing excursion. The day after that, who knew!

Sakina invited Cemil—and Osmund, incredibly—to stay with her. The house wasn’t hers, but the local widow who owned it treated her like a daughter, which was interesting. Osmund still couldn’t guess at what had compelled her to leave Şebyan in the middle of the night without a word all those years ago. Her behavior towards Cemil gave him no clues: if anything, he was more confused than ever.

They dined that night together around the widow’s table. It ranked as one of the more bizarre hours of Osmund’s life, at least up to that point. “And he thrived on the attention, of course,” Sakina recounted, that enigmatic smile on her face again. It wasn’t the melancholy expression from Aylin’s portrait, but there were was something of an echo of it—Osmund couldn’t say why. “We both did, for a time. Oh, we were so fiery in those days. I see he hasn’t changed a bit, even without my influence. Have you been sleeping, Cemil?”

Cemil took to the teasing with the same boyish poutiness as before. It was so unexpected on him. Cute, Osmund couldn’t help thinking with secret affection. “Of course,” Cemil grumbled, in what he likely thought was an unaffected tone. “I don’t neglect to take care of myself.”

Before he knew what was happening, Osmund found himself sharing a look with Sakina. He couldn’t help it. It was too much coming from someone who used a cursed sword. “You’ll have to keep him honest, Osmund,” she sighed. “Maybe you’ll have more success with it.”

She was trying hard not to make him feel excluded, which he supposed was nice. “Who were the other Meskato here?” he asked curiously, changing the subject. “Administrators?”

“Just so,” Cemil confirmed. “They collect my father’s taxes and enforce his laws.”

“They spent days quarreling about who would get the honor of hosting you,” Sakina teased. “I almost hate to ruin their fun. The drama would have sustained me for months.”

Cemil smiled at that. Then his eyes darkened; his face became strange. “Where’s Bayram?” he asked her.

“He’s never come here,” Sakina said mildly. “He isn’t interested in a little place like Kaliany.” There’d been many mentions now to Cemil’s brother—the oldest of his paternal half-brothers, if Osmund remembered correctly, and one of his primary rivals to the throne. From what he’d gathered, all of Anshan Territory was under his jurisdiction.

“…That’s for the best.”

“Rumor has it he’s moved his whole court to the countryside for sport while he builds his new estate in Fettah.”

Cemil made a noise of disgust. “News of his spending travels far,” he remarked derisively. “Would that I could look at his accounts.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’d find everything your father’s bookkeepers have overlooked,” jested Sakina.

Osmund couldn’t stop looking between her and Cemil as they bantered. They looked so…right together. If someone were to walk in the door and ignore Cemil’s fine clothes, they might simply see an old widow’s daughter and son-in-law. And, for some reason, a random Tolmishman. He supposed he could be a boarder. Or the family dog. And how fortunate he was, then, to be eating at the table with everyone!

After dinner, they divided up the chores without a word. Osmund had barely put away the utensils before he felt a churning in his abdomen and had to excuse himself.

He spent near an hour that night squatting above the outdoor loo; something he’d eaten here in Kaliany clearly hadn’t sat well with him. It was really just the perfect ending to this memorable day. After meticulously washing his hands, he crept back in through the house, trying to be quiet in case everyone had already gone to bed.

He and Cemil were sharing a room, which didn’t bear thinking about yet. There was absolutely no way he’d be stealing the sword tonight; his guts were in no state for stealth. Or for, well, anything else, if the opportunity arose. He would crawl into the simple straw pallet next to Cemil’s and just sleep.

But when he reached the room, it was empty. At least, of Meskato princes.

Osmund stood at the doorway a moment, puzzled, staring at the combined jumble of their stuff. He was sure Cemil hadn’t left the house; Osmund would have heard him while doing his unfortunate business. The answer smacked him cruelly in the face.

He wasn’t here…because he was with Sakina.

In spite of everything, his knees wobbled. He refused to be upset this time. He’d known all along this would be a distinct possibility. Sure, Sakina was a woman (even if she had been a man before—Osmund was still really unclear on that detail), but Cemil had said nothing about liking men exclusively. Before he could spiral further, however, Osmund heard the faint murmur of voices. There—he saw a light on under that door.

Without his mind giving his body the go-ahead, he’d already taken a step closer.

“You expected me, of all people, not to understand?”

“That isn’t why I left.”

Osmund froze. He’d heard them surprisingly clearly just now through the solid wood. This is wrong. I shouldn’t eavesdrop. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

The next few exchanges were too indistinct to make out. Then:

“I never said, ‘bring a hundred soldiers’. That wasn’t in my letter.”

“I read your letter.”

“You read, ‘kill a bunch of gryphons and take me back home’, didn’t you? It didn’t even matter what I wrote. You were always going to see what you wanted to see.”

Well. This was good for him, wasn’t it? They were arguing, not making passionate love to each other. Osmund wasn’t comforted. He felt more of an outsider here than ever.

There were more indistinct words, and finally:

“I have my own life here. I’m not going back.” Sakina’s voice.

“This isn’t where you belong.”

“I belong wherever I like.” Something, something… “And what about you? What are you doing with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who is he? Just a sweet boy whose heart you’re going to break? Can he even handle himself? What will you do if this business gets him killed?”

This time, even Osmund’s breathing stopped. There was only one person they could be talking about.

“Coming here was his decision.”

“Cemil, he’s starry-eyed over you. That’s the only reason he’s followed you here.”

“What does it matter?”

“Because he’s—he’s ordinary. He’s the one who doesn’t belong here.”

The door swung suddenly outwards. Osmund’s body jerked. There was no time to pretend he hadn’t been standing here listening in. He could only endure this terrible eye contact with Cemil, who had just emerged into the hallway.

For a moment, neither spoke. After he’d had a moment to collect himself, Cemil quietly pulled the door shut behind him. “Osmund,” he muttered. “Come.”

Cemil herded him to their shared room. Osmund tried to apologize once they were in private. “I shouldn’t have listened,” he attempted. He was too upset to produce much more. “I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Cemil agreed. He watched as Osmund folded up his legs on the little straw bed and held his knees to his chest. “Sakina is fond of you. She’s only thinking of your safety.”

“She doesn’t know anything about me,” Osmund found himself saying. Then his nose wrinkled up as he snorted mirthlessly. “Though…she isn’t wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am ordinary. It’s just my nature. Everything about me is. I can’t fight, I can’t use magic, I can barely even speak up for myself.”

Cemil kneeled down on the nearby pallet. He studied Osmund very closely. “None of those things say anything about a person’s worth or character,” he said.

“I guess they just make you boring and helpless, then,” Osmund retorted, not liking the bitterness twisting his voice. He knew how repellant people found a grown man pitying himself, and he was doing it anyway. “It’s alright. It is! I-I understand better than anyone why she said it. If I could become someone smart and skilled and dependable, I would have done it a long time ago and spared everyone and myself the trouble.”

With deliberate slowness, Cemil reached out a hand. Osmund watched, breath stilled, as it curled around his own, bringing it away from his folded knees until their joined palms rested in the space between them. “Well, I like you as you are,” Cemil told him, quiet.

Osmund’s mouth moved. “You don’t know me either.”

“You’re kind. You’re selfless. You’re brave, which is an impressive feat for a man with no confidence in his combat ability.” One thumb caressed the back of his knuckles, and Osmund shuddered. “Plus, I’ve always enjoyed the sight of a competent man in the saddle.”

Cemil was looking at him with that face that was seriously going to be the death of him. Giving up the ghost, Osmund lamented, “Someday you’re going to marry and father children.”

“I don’t wish to marry.”

“What?!”

“I plan to appoint an heir based on their merits. Plenty of princes boast nothing but a name and are unfit to rule.”

Well, Osmund could certainly attest to the truth in that. Though this stance still seemed awfully bold, and unconventional even for Meskat! He wondered if Cemil’s father the emperor knew of his intentions. If Osmund had ever attempted such a speech with his own father—well. It wasn’t worth thinking about.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Cemil had shifted closer, warmth transmitting between the thin fabric of their undershirts. Osmund couldn’t fight it anymore. He let his head fall limp against Cemil’s shoulder.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re holding me back, or that this is all a game I’m playing with you,” Cemil murmured near his ear. “You’re here because I need you. Because you saw that I needed you. And because you stayed.”

Osmund made a small noise at that.

“If there are things you aren’t ready to tell me,” Cemil continued, “then I’ll embrace what’s already here.”

Osmund stared down at their still-joined hands on the bed by their knees. He thought of the task Emre had given him. Maybe, he thought, in a first blinding bit of hope, he could simply…tell Cemil about it. Not confess, like he’d done something wrong. Or apologize, as if he expected punishment. Maybe he could trust him. With everything.

But. If he couldn’t? Where would that leave him? Where would that leave both of them?

With care, Osmund untangled their fingers, and lifted his head from its wonderful resting place on Cemil’s firm shoulder. “It’s getting late,” he said, resigned. “You should rest for tomorrow.”

They were still so close together that he could feel Cemil straightening his back in response. “That’s a good idea,” the Meskato prince acknowledged, starting to separate from him. “We’ve had a long ride.”

Osmund knew the other was making an attempt to be considerate. But…just in case, he didn’t want him thinking he’d said something wrong.

Before Cemil could move away entirely, Osmund caught his arm to delay him and then pressed a kiss against his perfect cheek, catching a bit of stubble beneath his lips. It was the sweetest sensation in the world. “Thank you,” he managed. “For…what you said. All of it.”

Cemil smiled slowly back at him.

“Thank me by believing it. That’s all I could ask.”