Chapter 27: Grounded

Valdor carried Amor through the entrance hall and up the first flight of stairs without the slightest change in his breathing.

By the second flight, Amor had begun watching him with open suspicion. Valdor’s arms remained steady beneath his knees and back, his shoulders relaxed despite the added weight, while each step rose beneath him with the same measured ease he might have used while walking across level ground. Even the moonstone clasp temporarily returned to his mantle after cooling Amor’s ankle barely shifted against the dark fur.

By the third flight, Amor could no longer remain silent.

"You do realize you have carried a grown man up nearly three entire flights of stairs."

He said.

"Yes."

"You aren’t even breathing heavily."

Valdor glanced down at him.

"You are small..."

Amor narrowed his eyes.

"And light."

Valdor added.

"That does not adequately explain this!"

"It does..."

Valdor adjusted him slightly higher against his chest before continuing upward.

"It is easy when the man is small and light."

Amor opened his fan despite having little room to use it properly.

"You have already said that!"

Valdor looked thoughtful.

"You ate much today..."

Amor became immediately suspicious of the direction. Valdor’s gaze moved briefly over the delicate body resting within his arms, as though attempting to solve a problem that had bothered him since the second pastry tray at House Moons.

"I still do not understand how you remain so small."

Color climbed into Amor’s face. He struck Valdor lightly upon the shoulder with his fan. The painted silk made a soft snapping sound against the fur-lined mantle and accomplished nothing beyond drawing the warrior’s attention toward the embarrassed curve of Amor’s mouth. Valdor did not flinch. If anything, the faint warmth entering his obsidian eyes suggested he had begun enjoying the familiar little attacks.

"You should stop commenting upon my eating habits!"

Amor said.

"You ate pastries, meat, fish, broth, grain, vegetables—"

Thwack—

Another fan strike interrupted him. Valdor’s mouth moved by the smallest amount. Amor stared.

"You are deliberately provoking me!"

"Yes."

The admission left him speechless for half the corridor.

Valdor continued toward Amor’s chamber with a calm expression, though the quiet satisfaction surrounding him revealed that he had discovered a harmless way to draw reactions from someone usually so composed. Amor lifted the fan again in warning. Valdor looked toward it expectantly.

The familiarity of the exchange softened the tension left by their argument. Amor still felt foolish for running into the alley, and Valdor’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly whenever he remembered the sight of lavender hair disappearing into shadow. Yet the anger between them had begun transforming into something they could carry rather than something that drove them apart. Even Amor’s fan had become part of the reconciliation.

They reached the top floor.

Elsie stood outside Amor’s open bedroom door with the other two maids, Mary and Junia, all three wearing expressions of equal panic and restrained curiosity. News of the injured ankle had evidently traveled faster than the carriage, along with enough fragments of the capital outing to leave the household uncertain which catastrophe deserved attention first. Their eyes moved from Amor in Valdor’s arms to the warrior’s transformed clothing, then toward the mountain-glass pendant resting against Amor’s chest. Elsie recovered first.

"Bring him inside."

She said, stepping out of the way. Valdor entered.

The room had already been prepared as though Amor were recovering from battle rather than a mild sprain. Fresh linens covered the bed, extra blankets had been folded at the foot, and a tray containing water, fruit, tea, and several unnecessary tonics waited upon the bedside table. Someone had also opened the windows briefly to cool the room before closing them against the evening air.

Mary hurried toward the bed and pulled back the blankets. Valdor crossed the carpet carefully.

He lowered Amor with the same patience he had shown every time he set him down, one arm remaining behind Amor’s shoulders until the young noble sat securely against the pillows. Then he supported the injured leg and placed it gently upon the mattress, ensuring the ankle did not twist. Amor barely had time to settle before Valdor reached toward the decorative pillows arranged near the headboard. He selected one.

Amor watched him remove the embroidered cover, perhaps deciding the ornamentation would press unevenly against the injured limb. Valdor folded a soft towel over the pillow instead, then lifted Amor’s calf and positioned the support beneath it until the ankle rested slightly elevated. The efficiency suggested he had treated similar injuries many times.

"You have appointed yourself physician again."

Amor observed.

"Doctor Haverin is coming."

"And yet you continue."

"Yes."

Amor’s lips threatened to curve. Doctor Haverin arrived moments later, carrying his medical case while Lanslet followed so closely behind that he nearly stepped upon the physician’s coat. The marquess had regained his polished composure during the climb, but the pleasant smile upon his face looked far too precise to offer reassurance. Amor knew that expression. So did the original body’s memories.

Lanslet rarely became angry with him. He worried, indulged, lectured gently, and occasionally suffered dramatic despair over Amor’s decisions, but true anger was uncommon. When it appeared, it did not resemble shouting or threats. Lanslet became impeccably polite. Amor immediately decided to behave.

Doctor Haverin set his case beside the bed and approached the injured foot.

"I will need to examine the ankle without the cloth."

Valdor removed the cooled moonstone wrapping himself, returning the clasp to his mantle while the physician carefully unbound the temporary support. The swelling had increased slightly during the carriage ride but remained localized around the outer joint. No discoloration suggested a severe tear or fracture.

Haverin pressed along the bone. Amor winced. Valdor’s attention sharpened. The doctor glanced toward him.

"Some discomfort is necessary if I am to determine the extent of the injury."

Valdor remained silent but unconvinced. Haverin tested the ankle’s range of motion, checked the heel and toes, then asked Amor to describe the exact direction of the pain. Amor answered honestly this time, partly because lying would only prolong the examination and partly because Valdor’s gaze made optimism impossible. After several minutes, the doctor sat back.

"It is a sprain."

Lanslet drew a hand toward his chest.

"Only a sprain?"

"Only in the sense that no bone is broken..."

The marquess looked less reassured. Doctor Haverin began wrapping the ankle in a clean compression bandage.

"There is likely a minor ligament strain, but nothing suggests lasting damage. The young lord must avoid placing weight upon it for at least one week."

Amor’s eyes widened.

"A week?"

"At minimum."

"That is excessive!"

"You attempted to stand upon it earlier and nearly fell."

Valdor said. Amor looked at him.

"You were not asked!"

"You told the doctor you would answer honestly."

"That did not appoint you witness for the prosecution!"

Doctor Haverin concealed a smile. Lanslet did not.

"One week..."

The marquess said pleasantly.

"How convenient..."

Amor turned toward him. The smile became brighter.

"You will remain inside the estate for precisely that period."

Amor’s mouth opened.

"In fact..."

Lanslet continued.

"You will remain primarily within your room until Doctor Haverin confirms that unnecessary walking will not worsen the injury."

"Father—"

"You deliberately ran away from the person responsible for protecting you, entered an alley after I expressly forbade it, and injured yourself while attempting to prove that caution was beneath you."

Amor’s protest died beneath the soft delivery. Lanslet’s voice never rose, but each word landed with perfect clarity. The marquess folded his hands before him, elegant and composed enough to frighten the maids more than shouting would have. Even Vervath, who had entered behind the doctor and now stood near the foot of the bed, looked mildly impressed.

"You’re grounding me?"

Amor said.

"Yes."

"I am an adult!"

"Then you should possess the judgment required to avoid sprinting through alleys in heeled boots."

Amor lowered his gaze. The original Amor’s memories offered no useful precedent because Lanslet had rarely directed genuine anger toward his son. Even when Amor’s relationships created public scandal or extravagant purchases drew criticism, the marquess usually defended him first and discussed the consequences later. This time, the fear had cut too deeply.

Arguing would make it worse. Amor folded his fan upon his lap.

"I understand."

The immediate surrender surprised everyone. Lanslet’s expression softened for half a breath before discipline returned.

"Good."

Valdor watched Amor carefully, uncertain whether the agreement concealed resentment or simply recognized that Lanslet’s anger came from fear. Amor did not appear trapped now. He looked embarrassed, chastened, and perhaps privately grateful that his punishment still involved remaining within the home of someone who loved him. Doctor Haverin finished securing the bandage.

"The ankle should be elevated whenever possible..."

He instructed.

"Cold magic may be applied in brief intervals during the first two days, though not directly against the skin. After swelling decreases, gentle movement will prevent stiffness."

Lanslet moved closer.

"What should he eat?"

The physician paused. Amor closed his eyes.

"Ordinary nourishing meals will be sufficient."

"Should the kitchen increase foods beneficial for tissue recovery?"

"Protein, vegetables, and mineral-rich broth may help."

"Which vegetables?"

Doctor Haverin looked toward the door as though considering escape. Lanslet continued without waiting.

"Should sugar be limited? Amor prefers sweets, but inflammation may be affected by excessive richness. What about herbal teas? Does he need additional calcium despite the absence of fracture?"

"Haah, Father...."

"I am speaking with your physician."

"You are interrogating him about soup."

Lanslet gave Amor a beautifully polite smile.

"Rest."

Amor obeyed. The marquess placed one hand upon Doctor Haverin’s shoulder and guided him toward the sitting area near the windows. The physician allowed himself to be moved, opening a notebook while Lanslet began outlining a treatment schedule with enough detail to manage a royal convalescence. Their voices lowered, though fragments involving breakfast broth, pillow height, and acceptable walking distances remained audible.

This left Amor surrounded. Valdor stood closest to the bed. Vervath occupied the foot. Elsie, Mary, and Junia arranged themselves along the other side, each pretending to perform a necessary task while examining every new detail acquired during the outing. Amor looked from one face to another and felt like an exhibit.

"No one needs to hover."

He said. All five remained where they were. Elsie adjusted the blanket over his knees.

"We are not hovering."

Mary moved the tray two inches closer.

"We are attending."

Junia fluffed a pillow that required no attention.

"Very professionally, might I add."

Amor narrowed his eyes. Vervath paid no attention to the maids. His gaze had settled upon Valdor.

The chieftain examined the dark layered robes, bronze fastenings, fitted trousers, reinforced boots, and fur-lined mantle with increasing confusion. He had last seen his son at breakfast wearing traditional Blackstone clothing. Valdor now appeared like a northern warlord adopted by a wealthy adventuring court. Vervath folded his arms.

"Where are your furs?"

Valdor looked toward him.

"At the estate."

"Yes, I see you are wearing some fur and you are at the estate. I mean the furs you had on when you left this morning."

"My other furs?"

"Yes."

Valdor considered how much explanation was required.

"We went shopping..."

Vervath waited.

"I changed clothes."

The chieftain’s expression became deadpan. Amor turned his face aside to hide a smile. Valdor apparently considered the explanation complete. Vervath looked him up and down again.

"You entered the capital wearing furs and returned dressed like an exiled desert prince."

"Master Edric made them."

"Who?"

"The tailor."

"I understood that part. Haah, may the Peaks grant me the patience to deal with this child."

Valdor shifted slightly. The attention made him more uncomfortable than the fitting itself. He had endured assistants measuring every part of his body, Amor staring at him through pastries, and half the capital examining the finished ensemble. None of that compared with his father demanding an explanation.

"The furs should be in our room."

Valdor said. Vervath looked toward Amor. The young noble lifted one hand.

"They were sent back carefully and without alterations. I did not confiscate them."

"I did not think you had..."

Valdor did. Amor remembered the misunderstanding and pouted faintly. Valdor noticed.

"I understand now."

"As you should! Humph!"

Vervath’s gaze moved between them, sensing an entire argument hidden beneath the brief exchange. His eyes narrowed with interest, though before he could pursue it, another difference caught his attention. The braid near Valdor’s temple looked incomplete. The chieftain straightened.

"Where is the purple bead?"

Valdor became still. Amor’s fingers moved unconsciously toward the pendant upon his chest. Vervath’s tone lost its teasing edge.

"Did you lose it?"

"No."

"Then where is it?"

Valdor did not answer verbally. He looked toward Amor. The movement was small. It was also unmistakable.

Vervath followed his son’s gaze. The mountain-glass pendant rested against Amor’s lavender-gray clothing, framed by silver that protected the irregular bead without altering its shape. Evening lamplight caught the scratches along the purple surface, marks Vervath had seen grow over fourteen years of hunts, travel, and training. Recognition entered his face slowly.

His eyes moved from the pendant to Valdor. Then back to Amor. No one spoke.

Amor suddenly became aware of how intimate the gift appeared beneath a father’s scrutiny. Valdor had explained its history inside Master Pellin’s shop, but Vervath had lived that history. He had watched Sarka carve the bead, watched her tie it into their eldest son’s braid before his first hunt, and watched Valdor return through the snow carrying the first signs of leadership.

Valdor had never removed it. Not for ceremonies, not for battle and most certainly not for grief. Now it rested against Amor’s heart. Vervath gave his son a long, knowing look. No teasing entered it. That made the judgment infinitely worse.

The chieftain’s expression carried pride, surprise, and the unmistakable recognition that Valdor had given something beyond ordinary courtship interest. He did not ask whether the gift was serious. The bead answered.

Valdor’s composure weakened. His shoulders shifted beneath the mantle. The warrior who had emerged from the back of an aristocratic workroom wearing trousers moments from collapse, had faced Alphonsins without fear, and chased Amor into a dark alley suddenly appeared unsure where to place his hands. One moved toward the moonstone clasp, then stopped. The other settled awkwardly near his sash.

Vervath’s brow lifted. Valdor became annoyed. The annoyance did nothing to remove the shyness. Amor watched with growing fascination.

He had never seen Valdor embarrassed by his father before. Vervath’s crude stories, marriage hints, and public declarations usually produced stern resignation or dry resistance. This silent acknowledgment struck somewhere far more vulnerable.

"The stone is safer now."

Valdor said. Vervath looked toward Amor.

"I see."

"That is all."

"Mhm, I have said nothing more."

"You are looking."

"Well I do have eyes."

Valdor’s jaw tightened. Elsie lowered her head, shoulders beginning to shake with restrained laughter. Mary suddenly found the water pitcher fascinating. Junia bit the inside of her cheek. Amor touched the pendant.

Valdor saw the gesture and became even more visibly uncomfortable, perhaps because the tender way Amor held the bead confirmed every implication Vervath had already drawn. The warrior glanced toward the door. For the first time since entering House Moons, escape seemed preferable to standing his ground. He looked toward Amor.

"You should rest."

Amor blinked.

"I have been told repeatedly."

Valdor touched one fist to his chest.

"Good night."

"It is not yet night."

"Rest anyway."

Before Amor could respond, Valdor turned and strode toward the door. The layered robes moved behind him with far more haste than dignity required. He passed Lanslet and Doctor Haverin without pausing, opened the bedroom door, and disappeared into the corridor. His retreat was swift enough to resemble flight.

Everyone stared after him. Vervath’s mouth opened slightly.

He had seen Valdor face frost-jaws, territorial challenges, winter landslides, and armed men without retreating a single step. As a child, his son had once remained inside a burning storage lodge long enough to carry out every trapped hunting dog. Nothing made him run.

A meaningful look from his father had accomplished what monsters could not. Vervath turned slowly toward Amor. Amor was already looking at him.

Understanding passed between them.

The chieftain’s eyes moved deliberately toward the pendant again, then toward the empty doorway. He did not smile, but amusement gathered within every line of his face. Amor finally understood exactly why Valdor had escaped. Vervath knew.

Worse, he knew that Amor knew. Heat flooded Amor’s cheeks. He lifted his fan immediately, hiding the lower half of his face even though the action confirmed his embarrassment more thoroughly than any confession. The mountain-glass pendant remained visible beneath it. Vervath’s knowing expression deepened. Amor narrowed his eyes above the fan.

"You frightened him away."

"I said nothing."

"You did it with your face!"

"My face is honest."

"That appears to be a family problem."

Vervath laughed. The sound filled the bedroom and drew Lanslet’s suspicious attention from across the room. The marquess looked between Amor’s flushed face, the pendant upon his chest, and the doorway through which Valdor had fled. His own eyes narrowed.

"What happened?"

"Nothing!"

Amor said quickly. Vervath folded his arms.

"Valdor gave him Sarka’s bead."

Lanslet went silent. Amor looked toward Vervath.

Traitor, his expression said.

Vervath remained entirely unrepentant. Lanslet approached the bed. The polite anger concerning the alley had not vanished, but it temporarily gave way beneath paternal curiosity. He leaned closer to examine the pendant, recognition gradually forming from the childhood envoy visit and his memories of Sarka’s craftsmanship Vervath kept shoving in his face. His expression became complicated.

"He gave you this?"

Amor touched the glass.

"Yes."

"Today?"

"Y-yes."

"After knowing you two days?"

Amor lowered his fan by a fraction.

"We’re approaching the third day."

"That does not count."

"Vervath believes it does."

Vervath nodded.

"It counts some."

Lanslet looked toward him.

"You will not turn this into fate."

"I said some."

Amor sighed. The three maids exchanged another round of glances, each gathering enough romantic material to sustain household gossip through the winter. Doctor Haverin returned to the bedside at the worst possible moment, took one look at the cluster of fathers and attendants, and decided the ankle required another immediate inspection.

"Everyone should allow the patient to rest."

He said. No one moved. The physician looked toward Amor with sympathy. Amor sank deeper into the pillows.

His ankle throbbed, his father had grounded him, Valdor had fled from a single paternal glance, and every person in the room now understood that the pendant on his chest carried the memory of a dead Blackstone woman. The day had begun with a nightmare and somehow ended with an audience analyzing what might be the most intimate gift he had ever received.

Amor closed his fingers around the bead. Despite everything, warmth spread through him. Valdor had run.

Not because he regretted the gift. Because being seen giving it had made the warrior shy. The realization was so unexpectedly sweet that Amor could not prevent the smile forming behind his fan.

Vervath noticed. His knowing look returned. Amor immediately stopped smiling.

"Leave my room, I need rest!"

He said. The chieftain laughed harder.