Chapter 467 - 468: See Him Wearing It.

Chapter 467: Chapter 468: See Him Wearing It.

A warmth, that pools in his chest and builds, rises, until his cheeks are aching so hard they burn, and although Loac’s staring up at the roof rather than at his own reflection he knows he’s grinning.

Joy.

For the first time ever, Montrel might just be onto something.

(He hopes.)

Gods, he hopes.

But at the same time... regardless of whether Montrel is right or not, Loac can’t just quietly let Khobi go, but he’s not sure there’s anything he can say that could possibly make him stay. Doesn’t even know if he should ask. Even before he’d known, just the way Khobi talked about his old home had made Loac want it for him.

If he asked him to stay, he’d be asking him to give that up to languish behind locked doors. To look out to the wilderness and not be permitted to answer its call. And for what?

For him?

Loac knows what happens when that wildfire stops burning. And he doesn’t want that. Not for Khobi. Never for him.

But he still wants him all the same, doesn’t he? He wants him to stay and be his and no one else’s.

Inexplicably, Loac’s gaze drifts from the rafters above to the drawer nestled at his side of the bed. He knows without looking that there’s not a lot in there. Some gold, a jar in desperate need of refilling, a couple of old books Xena gave to him that he kept but never read, and a ring.

He knows without looking, yet for some reason he opens it, just to check.

As expected, Ma’s ring is still there, sitting right where he left it after Gurdet had given it to him out of the blue. For a while he’d even forgotten it was there; had kind of stumbled across it again by chance the other night while he was looking for that almost-empty jar to get Khobi ready for him. He hadn’t had much time to think about it then; not with Khobi straddling his hips and looking to get his world rocked, but this morning with no Khobi in his bed he’s got all the time in the world.

This time he reaches over and pulls it out; flopping back into the pillows to contemplate it. For such a little thing it feels oddly heavy; like it somehow carries the weight of something ten times its size. It was the only thing of Ma’s he ever really wanted, because it was the only thing she ever did. She never cared about pretty dresses or shiny stuff or anything like that, but as often as she called it ugly, she really loved this ring and treasured it until the day she died.

Then his old man got to it first and kept it for himself all these years. Probably never even knew how much he wanted it. And why would he? Loac had never told him.

With a small sigh, he slips it on, and pretends to himself that there’s nothing noteworthy about the finger he chooses.

It’s the first time he’s put it on since Gurdet handed it back to him.

And it feels...

...Kinda like a ring?

He holds his hand up over his head, turning it over to let it catch the morning light. It’s definitely a ring, and the same one for sure, and while it reminds him of Ma like it always had, it doesn’t look like it used to look on Ma’s hand. Her skin light like Xena’s and Auntie’s, but even in the height of summer it would never get as dark as his. He got his skin from his father; like his hair, and his eyes. The ones that were meant to be pink; like Ma and Auntie and Xena and all the generations of Crade royals before. But they weren’t.

Lucky him.

When he was little, some of the kids round the castle used to say that she wasn’t his ma; that she’d just found him on the side of road at the end of summer when the markets left and decided to keep him. He’d kicked them and made them cry for saying that, and then run to Ma and cried himself. But she’d reminded him that she was most definitely there when he was born, and Uncle Horang and Auntie, too, and told him not to listen. Then she’d sat him on her knee in front of the mirror and combed his hair back and showed her the little dimple in their cheek they shared, and the shape of their noses, and then she’d smiled and made him smile too, so that he could see that they were the same, too.

He never doubted it again; not matter what he heard, no matter what they said. But in the years after she died, there used to be days (weeks? years?) when he looked in the mirror and he didn’t see her at all.

Recently, he’s been seeing it again.

You look a lot like her .

The moment the words echo in his head, Loac closes his fingers into a fist, unable and unwilling to stop the smile that stretches triumphantly out across his face at the memory of Khobi’s hand, clasped within his own.

Stupid Khobi.

In this light the brown stone set against his hand looks kinda different; the ripples and imperfections within seeming more vibrant, more alive, and with a flash of longing, finds himself wishing it was red. But there are brown flecks in Khobi’s eyes too, if you looked close enough. And Loac has looked so close it sometimes felt like he could see his own reflection staring back from within.

With another sigh; louder and longer this time, he takes the thing off, stows it away again, and then shoves his face into his pillow.

He’s an idiot. A real idiot.

Ma’s gonna chew him out, for sure.

All this time it’s the only thing of hers he’s ever wanted, so how come now that he finally has it back with him all he wants is to see Khobi wearing it?