“Points of historical interest?” Jurand leaned over Antaup’s shoulder to turn the map all the way around. “I have to see the ruins of the aqueduct while I’m here—”
“Glanhorm doesn’t cover any of that shit.” Antaup set his brows waggling. “Just the brothels. And Cardotti’s House of Leisure is first on the fuck list.”
Jurand rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “That I have lived to hear the words ‘fuck’ and ‘list’ spoken in sequence.” And he walked to the window and out onto the balcony.
“Haven’t you bloody poured anything yet?” grunted Glaward, trying to shoulder Jin out of the way. They jostled each other, then Jin caught Glaward’s head in a lock and they started to wrestle, barging into the cabinet and making the bottles rattle. With sorry inevitability, they worked their way down onto the carpet and started to roll about, snapping and grunting.
“D’you yield?” snarled Glaward.
“Fuck yourself!” groaned Jin.
Antaup stepped over them and plucked down a bottle, peering at the label. Leo’s leg ruled out wrestling, sadly. He followed Jurand through the stirring drapes.
The sun was sinking towards the hazy maze of roofs, glinting on the water, sending pink and purple and orange flares through the heavens, bringing a hint of silver to the edges of the clouds. Below, outside some tea shop, or winery, or husk-house, or whatever it was they had here, a ragged violinist was wending between the tables, trying to saw a few coppers from the masked revellers with some sad little melody. It was sticky-hot, but there was a breeze that tasted mostly of spice and adventure and just a little canal rot, stirring the hair about Jurand’s face. The man simply didn’t get any less handsome. That proud, sad, thoughtful expression belonged on some statue from the Old Empire.
“Beautiful,” murmured Leo.
“I know you don’t think much of Styria, but even you can’t deny…” And Jurand planted his hands on the pitted parapet and looked out at the sunset. “It’s a hell of a romantic setting.”
“The very place for one last revel before a marriage.”
“The marriage happened already, remember?”
Leo frowned as he turned his wedding ring gently around on his finger. “Hard to forget.”
Things hadn’t been quite the same between him and Jurand since he came back from Adua. Since he came back with Savine. Some… spark missing. He’d done nothing wrong, but he felt he’d let Jurand down somehow. Broken some unspoken promise between them. He looked at Leo now, that earnest, open look that always seemed to catch him right in the heart.
“Are you sure about all this?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Rebellion?”
Leo gave an impatient twitch. “We’ve been over it.” A thousand times, he’d been over it. He was tired of the arguments. “I know you’re a thinker, but sooner or later a man has to get on and do.”
“Can we trust Isher and the rest? They’re not soldiers. They’ve never fought a battle—”
“That’s why they made me the leader.”
“I wish we weren’t keeping it from your mother. She could be a hell of an asset—”
“The time comes for a man to leave his mother at home, Jurand. Along with his doubts.”
“I suppose…”
Leo stepped up to lean on the parapet beside him. Close, so their shoulders were almost touching. Almost, but with a warm chink of Styrian sky between them. “Look, King Orso’s no soldier, either. We’ll be taking him by surprise. And when it comes to advice on strategy, I’ve got you!” And he gave Jurand’s shoulder a nudge with his and brought a flicker of a smile to his face. “Couldn’t ask for a better man beside me! And lots of allies. Rikke. Stour. Who knows, maybe the Styrians, too.” He turned to look out across the city. “If I don’t make a bloody mess of it tonight…”
“Come on.” Jurand’s turn to give Leo a nudge. “You know you can be charm itself when you want to be. Just flash that smile of yours and King Jappo will be putty in your hands.” Leo grinned in spite of himself and Jurand grinned back. “That’s the one.”
A silence, then, while the violin played on, and a pleasure-barge drifted down the grey-green canal below them, masked merrymakers lazing in each other’s arms on the upper deck. One of those moments you hope might last for ever.
“I need… to thank you,” said Leo. The words were hard to find, but he had to try. “For being such a good friend. So patient and so loyal and… I know I can be a little… self-absorbed.” Jurand gave a wry snort at that. “I just hope you know how much I love—” That word felt oddly dangerous, of a sudden. But he couldn’t think of another that fitted. “All of you,” he added quickly, waving an arm towards the doorway, Jin and Glaward’s growling coming faint from beyond. “Glaward’s my conscience, and Jin’s my courage, and Antaup’s my charm, and you’re my—”
“Awkwardness?”
“I was going to say brains. I know how many disasters you’ve steered me clear of. Maybe you think I don’t notice, or I’m not grateful but, well… I do, and I am. I’m just… a lot better at taking credit than giving it, I reckon. You’ve always been there.” He winced. “I’m not sure… I can say the same.”
“’Course you can.” Jurand’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked away. As if he was blinking back tears. “Life has leaders and followers, we all know that. I’d follow you into hell, Leo.” And he looked back, and reached up, not that far, and put his hand on Leo’s shoulder.
They’d touched each other a thousand times. They’d wrestled and sparred and hugged. But there was something different about that touch. More than one old friend supporting another. Far more. Jurand’s hand didn’t just rest there. It squeezed, ever so lightly, and Leo felt a strange need to tilt his head and press his cheek against it. Take that hand and hold it to his face, to his heart, to his mouth.
Jurand was looking him right in the eyes, lips slightly parted. “I want to say…”
Leo’s throat felt suddenly very tight. “Yes?”
“I… need… to say—”
“Here you go!” Antaup blundered out through the window, wedged a glass into Leo’s hand, another into Jurand’s, spattering wine on the balcony, making them both take an awkward little step apart. “Our boy’s all grown up!” And he planted a slobbery kiss on Leo’s cheek, and ruffled Jurand’s already ruffled hair, and ducked back inside.
Now the violinist had seen them, prancing over to the bridge just below their balcony, grinning up and hacking out a jauntier, more marshal theme. Beside the winery, two fellows started up a noisy argument. Typical Styrians, all swagger and no action.
“Well,” said Jurand, lifting his glass. “To the married man, eh?” And he slugged back his wine, the knobble on his long, slender throat bobbing. “Time comes we all have to grow up.” He sounded rather bitter about it as he wiped his mouth. “Put our silly dreams aside.”
“Aye.” Leo took a mouthful himself. “Reckon we should get ready. If I make a mess of this, Savine’ll bloody kill me.”