Chapter Text
At firedark, his attendants forced Gilmore to stop and have dinner. He didn’t want to waste too much time with a meal; there were still scores of freed captives to speak with. But the servants had laid out a sumptuous feast on the southern grand balcony, and Gilmore could not resist the view of the city in the dimming light.
The tangerine and burgundy of the skyline was romantic, but now it only served to make Gilmore feel alone. He and Vax’ildan had had a lovely night yestereve, but his boy had been so mercurial lately. Who knew which Vax would be waiting for Gilmore when he returned to Whitestone?
Vax’ildan had sounded so defeated and morose when he’d called from Daxio earlier today. Like the Vax who’d attempted to say his last goodbye to Gilmore on their return from Draconia. Gilmore did not care for that Vax, though he did prefer him to the Vax’ildan that had been embarrassed to embrace Gilmore in front of the others and told Gilmore he was “a dear, dear friend.”
Better to sit out here alone than be joined by that particular Vax’ildan. As if on cue, a communication spell pinged Gilmore’s sphere of influence. But it wasn’t the one he had been thinking of.
“Gilt D’amour, apologies if I’m interrupting,” Jarett said, speaking Marquesian, as they always did to one another. “I had only hoped to--it has been three days, my lord, since you were last known to be in Whitestone. And longer still since I last saw you. Forgive me, but I am worried for you.”
Jarett was in some dark and dingy room that had a military look to it. Perhaps the quarters he’d mentioned at the barracks. And he did look off somehow, not the usual suave and self-assured general who’d held his ground when Vax’ildan had thrown a temper tantrum about finding him in Gilmore’s bed.
Gilmore felt guilty for not having contacted Jarett since the message he’d left with Assum two days ago. Having just two low level spells left, he wrote a quick note back on a slip of arcane parchment.
My Dear J'arett,
I am well and safe. There is much business for me to attend to at the southern palace, but I plan to return no later than tomorrow evening. Will you come see me then? My eyes have missed the sight of you. I’m sorry to be gone so long without word. Terrible of me to do this to you again.
Yours,
Gilmore
He sent the message, still scrying to make certain Jarett received it. Jarett read the letter quickly, and then raised the ring Gilmore had given him to his lips. “I will wait for you.” There was a quiet passion in those words; a devotion Gilmore did not feel in any of Vax’ildan’s infrequent professions of love.
He’d been telling the truth: Gilmore really had missed Jarett. He just hadn’t taken the time to think about it. Over the last few weeks, Jarett had become Gilmore’s rock, a vital part of Gilmore’s support network in Whitestone. It felt strange to be away from him for so long.
Things had become so insane the last three days, Gilmore had nearly forgotten why he’d been keeping his distance from Jarett before leaving Whitestone. So strange not to think of his gilded cage while he was sitting in it.
Now it all came rushing back, and Gilmore lost his appetite. He set his wineglass on the mosaic table and walked back inside to continue speaking with the newly freed peoples. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could return to Whitestone. And Jarett…
Perhaps Gilmore would take his own advice and enjoy what brief time they might have left together. He knew he could keep the Soul from executing Jarett, whatever came. But he would not be able to keep Jarett by his side if J’mon wished it otherwise. There was no rock ahead; it was all hard place, and very little Gilmore could do about it.
...
His attendants took good care of Gilmore. In spite of his insistence, they did not let him stay up too late speaking with their guests. Many of the kidnapped peoples had chosen to stay and serve for a fair wage and rooms in the palace; more than Gilmore would have thought. But more of them wanted to return home, or at least somewhere safe. The City of Brass was not safe. Not even for Gilmore; not really.
With all of his spells depleted, by midnight, all of Gilmore’s handmaids had joined Leila in demanding he go to bed. Gilmore couldn’t stretch himself thin under so many watchful eyes. It was much easier to say yes, to give in to those who had been tasked with his welfare. And they genuinely cared; he’d known most of them for decades. After 30 minutes of protest, Gilmore couldn’t say no anymore.
...
He’d forgotten how large their bed was. Strange the way one’s mind could forget whole facts like that. Gilmore lay in the center of it, looking up at the tulle canopy, feeling very small. Sleeping alone in Tal’Dorei was not this painful. Gilmore didn’t know why. Perhaps because there were no ghosts of his mate in those beds. Devo’ssa’s influence hovered over everything here; it was impossible not to think of them when he was here. Which was a problem for Gilmore.
Eventually he did sleep, but it was only after his attendants had spent nearly an hour rubbing his back and feet. In the old days, Gilmore had often asked his handmaids to sleep with him--platonically, of course. He just slept better with others close to him. Any physical contact helped Gilmore.
*
The next morning, he awoke on his own, surprised to find himself alone. Then Gilmore saw them.
His attendants were gone, but in their place were vases of purple irises and sprays of lavender, blue summer lilacs and hydrangea blossoms as big as his head. Purple sages and roses and spring lilacs and wisteria, jacaranda blossoms and morning glories, passion flowers and clematis blossoms... Too many flowers to count.
Gilmore sat up in bed, terrified. There was only one reason why his bedroom would be filled with his favourite color flowers and the servants absent: the Soul was coming. They might even be here already.
He cast Misty Step to sneak unseen out of his rooms and find Hunin and Kyor. “I have to go,” Gilmore told them, out of breath. “You are welcome to stay, but I have to return to the prime material. Right now.”
Seeing his distress, both of them rose and came to his side. “We will go where you go,” Hunin said, firmly.
“We don’t like it here,” Kyor said.
“I’m sorry.” Gilmore felt bad. He hadn’t meant to keep them here against their will.
“He means the city, not your palace,” Hunin explained.
That made Gilmore feel a little better. “Oh good. I have to write a letter before we leave. If there’s anything you’d like to bring with you, pack it now.” The boys looked at each other and shrugged, giving Gilmore some space while they dressed in their newly-tailored clothes.
Gilmore wrote instructions for the Lord Chamberlain to make an appointment with Juuraiel so that she could select her prize from the treasure room. He also gave orders for a hefty sum to be delivered to the Flame Garden along with a gift basket of the special burning taffy only available at the Fenstral Spire market every other week. Gilmore recalled Senokir had used to like those. He felt bad not saying goodbye in person, but this was an emergency. Gilmore was not ready to see Devo’ssa, not yet.
The note written, Gilmore turned to his companions. “Ready?” He could hear the servants calling him down the hall. They must have discovered him missing.
“Ready,” Hunin said.
“Don’t be scared,” Kyor said, taking Gilmore’s hand.
That made him smile. “I’ll do my best, habibi.” Then he cast Teleport, bringing them back to the circle in his workshop.
“See?” Kyor said. “Now you don’t have to worry anymore.”
If only that were true. “Ah, speaking of worrying...no one else here knows that I’m--not human. So if you wouldn’t mind keeping my secret while we’re here…”
“We understand,” Hunin said. “People treat you differently if they know you’re different.”
“Sad to say. Well,” Gilmore gave their hands a squeeze. “Should we see about some breakfast? How do you feel about tea?”
Gilmore didn’t even think about it as he led the two aasimar toward the stairs. Out in the hall, Jarett stopped dead in his tracks as three teenage boys casually walked out of the locked workroom. Seeing the movement from the corner of his eye, Gilmore turned and smiled at him. “Oh, J’arett!”
Jarett dropped his cup, which shattered on the floor, splashing coffee and milk all over the hall.