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Severia was furious, and she had decided that Samothes' forge was the best outlet for her fury.
"Sometimes I can't believe that old man," she said, pacing back and forth across the stone floor. The sounds shifted along with the shape of her feet: from the claws of a bird to the feline paws of a lynx to the hooves of a doe and back again to human, all just too fast for Samothes' eyes to catch. "That boy killed me, and Samol decides to adopt him? Typical."
"He always has his reasons," Galenica said, standing still in the corner, voice like stone grinding against stone. Samothes sighed, and put down his hammer. There was no use trying to get any work done.
"Why don't you talk to father about it?" Samothes asked.
Severia snorted. "Don't you think that's the first thing I did? He said the boy apologized. Apologies don't give me that time back. You'd think Samol of all people would understand that."
"Time doesn't mean much to him," Galenica pointed out.
Samothes allowed his curiosity to be piqued. "Was he there with Samol? The word-eater?"
"No," Severia said. "But I saw a wolf creeping in the woods. Bright white." Her form flickered. She was a great mastiff, and then a snow-white husky, and then a fox the color of flames. "He took them from me, you know. And he has the audacity to flaunt it!"
Galenica chuckled. "It sounds like he was hiding." Severia whirled on them, but as always, Galenica was able to temper that fury. "He's afraid of you."
"Hmph." She resolved into a woman once again, though her hair still danced around her hair like flames. "As he should be."
"Don't worry," Galenica said fondly, their hand carding through the fire of her hair. "We are all just as afraid of you as we should be. Isn't that right, Samothes?"
"Of course," Samothes said. He couldn’t help his smile. Spending time with Galenica and Severia always reminded him of watching gears, interlocked perfectly together. Galenica still while Severia moved, calm while she raged, a shield where she was a sword. Made for each other in a way that nature shouldn't allow.
Samothes picked up his hammer once again as they left. As he worked metal into its proper shape, he thought about the word-eater, about Severia and Galenica, two halves of a whole, and of himself: working in his forge, alone.
-
"He calls himself Samot," Samol told Samothes that night over dinner. Severia and Galenica were conspicuously absent. Samol had only laughed and said it was for the best--anger would only sour the food, after all.
"Where is he?" Samothes asked.
"Ah, you too? He wouldn't come inside for dinner. Still too much of the wild in him. He'll come around." Samol bit into his chicken and sighed, satisfied.
"He doesn't like your cooking?" Samothes asked, grinning down at his own plate. “Now that seems like a crime he should answer for.”
"He doesn't appreciate my cooking yet." They laughed, and then Samol's expression sobered. "I know what my sister thinks of him. He's done some bad things. Things he’s answered for. But you didn't see the look on his face, my boy, when I turned on him in anger. He took my sister from me, and that ain't an easy thing to forgive. But I've never seen a body look as sorry as he did just then. When he saw that lingering grief, naked on my face.”
"It's not me you have to convince, father."
"What I'm asking is that you give him a chance. Severia sure ain't gonna, and I can't really blame her. I don't want him to grow up alone.” Samol stood, gathering his empty plate. “Loneliness is an awful thing."
"All right," said Samothes, who was not in the habit of refusing his father anything. He got up to help him with the washing. "I will. But Severia may have a point. He was dangerous once. He could be so again."
"When you've lived as long as I have, you'll understand that everything can be dangerous, given enough time. But that means that everything can be good, too. There's always more than one path to tread."
"I just think he may already have picked his.” Samothes scrubbed at his plate. He had built this sink in Samol’s home, a long time ago. “I don't want anything to happen to you."
Samol grinned, crooked. "Nothing’s gonna happen to me, boy.” He handed Samothes a sponge. “Now come on. Put some elbow grease into it.”
-
It was a beautiful day, the sun resplendent in the sky, exactly as Samothes created it to be. He finished his latest project at the forge--a new kind of mechanical clock that wound itself--in the early hours of the morning, and he left his workshop flushed with success. He walked among the quiet streets of the nearby city, his people only just beginning to wake up, and he made his way to the outskirts of town and then past them. There was a lake nearby. Samothes thought he might like to watch the fish for a while, until the gears in his mind slowed down enough that he could sleep.
When he arrived, a wolf sat back on its haunches at the edges of the lake, its tail swinging. It was no ordinary wolf, that was clear enough: divinity shone from its very fur, white and blinding under the sun.
By habit, Samothes nearly called out to Severia before he remembered.
As Samothes crept closer, the wolf tilted its head and then shifted. For a moment, it was Severia sitting there, gazing at herself in the water. And then she flickered, and there stood a pale figure Samothes recognized as one of the people from his city. And then in another beat of Samothes' heart, a young man with golden blonde hair cascading down his back knelt beside the lake instead, a wolfskin cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
He looked at himself a moment longer in the water, and then he turned and raised his eyes to Samothes. They were the brilliant yellow of a wolf's. And then the young man blinked, and they were the same clear blue as the sky, lit by the sun.
He tilted his head the side, a curious gesture. Samothes could almost see the ears he no longer had twitch. "I know you," said the boy--said Samot. "You're Samothes."
"I am," Samothes said. Samot took a cautious step forward, the toes of his bare feet digging into the dirt. "What are you doing here?"
"Observing," said Samot. "There's a lot to see." He stepped forward once again, coming within a few feet of Samothes. "And I have met everyone else--Samol and Severia and Galenica, even Tristero--but I have not met you."
"Your last meeting with Severia was not particularly auspicious for her."
Samothes expected Samot to growl, or perhaps to bare his teeth. Instead he tipped his head back and laughed. "Is she still angry?"
In the face of that laughter, Samothes could not help but soften his own stance. There would not, it seemed, be a fight today. "Yes," he said. "Momentously so. I would avoid her for another century at least. And don't let her catch you wearing her form."
Samot shrugged languidly. Between blinks a younger Severia stood underneath the cloak, the way Samothes remembered her in his earliest days, hair cut short and fins bright at the base of her neck. After a few seconds, the blonde boy replaced her. "It's very comfortable," he said with a smirk. "She should learn to share. But I think I like this form best. It suits me, does it not?"
"Yes," Samothes said, agreeing without thought, his eyes moving from the tops of Samot's feet to his sparkling eyes. It did, and Samothes was not built for dishonesty. "You don't look very trustworthy."
Samot grinned at him with just a hint of teeth. "I suppose we'll have to see." And then his cloak became the skin of a wolf in truth, and it ran past Samothes and back into the forest, fur brushing against Samothes' hand.
Samothes sat by the water, and he found that it took quite a while for his mind to clear.
-
The next week Samothes ventured out into the woods. His curiosity was too heavy a burden to bear. It was not usually his habit to spend much time in the forest; it was a cool and dark place, the sun unable to pierce the branches of the trees, and Samothes liked to look upon his greatest creation when he could. That was why he had made it, of course.
Hours passed, and the forest grew darker around him. Samothes thought he might turn back, but he was nearing the village that sat just at the edge of the forest. He may as well visit.
He heard the shouts first, but the growls came soon on their heels. Samothes ran towards the noise, and soon enough found a clearing in the trees. The white wolf sat back on its haunches, teeth bared, and three people from the village stood before it, spears at the ready.
The woman who stood at the front of the group lunged, and the wolf leapt back, teeth snapping. But they snapped only at the spear, not at the woman, and the wolf did not attack her, but hung back, snarling.
Samothes stepped forward out of the shadows, and held up a hand. "Stop," he said, and recognizing her lord, the woman did, though she was too wary to lower her spear. "What happened here?"
"This wolf has lurked near the edge of our village for many nights now," the woman said. Her eyes remained on the wolf. "Our children play in this forest. It isn't safe."
"Go back to your village," Samothes said, a note of a command in his voice. "I'll take care of this."
The woman glanced between him and the wolf, unconvinced, but her two companions soon drew her away.
When they were gone, the wolf ceased to growl, but it remained crouched and tense. Waiting for an attack that Samothes was surprised he had no intention of delivering.
The wolf remained still as Samothes approached. He reached out, and it allowed him to touch its head, to scratch behind its ear and under its jaw.
And then Samothes stood before a young man, his hand pressed to his cheek. Samot blinked up at him. "Thank you," he said, with perfect sincerity.
"You weren't going to hurt them.” The wind blew through Samot's hair, and it brushed against Samothes' fingers, startling him. He drew his hand back.
"No," Samot said. "I was watching the village. I only wanted to understand them.” He tilted his head and grinned, all teeth. "So you aren't going to kill me?"
"You're no threat to my people," Samothes said. He drew himself up to his full height. "And if you do become one, I'll know about it."
Samot's features broke into delight. "Are you threatening me?" he asked.
"Warning," Samothes amended. "I don't want to fight you, Samot."
Samot had the gall to look disappointed. "Are you sure? I think it might be fun." He stretched, both arms above his head. "And unlike your aunt, I don't think you would draw too much blood."
"You are young," Samothes said, shaking his head, the corners of his lips turning up.
"Not really," Samot said, and tackled him.
It was a short scuffle, Samot laughing the whole time, his body thrumming with animal joy. Samothes overpowered him easily, pinning both his hands to the soft grass. Beneath him, Samot's eyes were wolf-yellow again. "See?" Samothes said, watching the quick rise and fall of Samot’s chest. "I would win."
Samot snarled and shifted, a wolf again, sliding out of Samothes' hold. The wolf barreled into Samothes, knocking him over, and then the young man was sitting across Samothes' thighs, hands splayed against his chest, looking very pleased with himself. His hair was a tangled and beautiful mess. The smugness didn't fade even as Samothes stood, depositing him on the ground. Samot sprawled back against the grass comfortably, smiling. The sun that managed to filter its way through the trees cast his face in golden light.
"Tell me about your forge," Samot said. His eyes were the color of the center of a flame, and they watched Samothes with just as much intensity.
Samothes had never felt so thrown off kilter. Even Severia, who was as changeable as the winds that carried her ships, was predictable. But there was something elemental to Samot that made it difficult for Samothes to look away from him. He was sprawled out lazily on the ground, hands tucked behind his head, but Samothes knew that he could turn vicious in an instant if the mood struck him.
But instead he wanted to know about Samothes' work.
Samothes sat down beside him and began to speak. Samot listened intently to everything he said, eyes sharp, endlessly curious. With a shiver, Samothes remembered the shadow Severia spoke of, the creature that swallowed words whole. But Samot didn't take anything from Samothes. He asked question after question, drawing knowledge out of Samothes as if he were pulling on a spool of thread.
Perhaps he was taking something after all. Samothes could not make himself mind.
"I didn't realize metal could bend like that," Samot said, fascinated. He looked up at Samothes. The sun had nearly set by now, leaving them both in shadow. "Will you show me how it works?"
Samothes had no interest in sharing his skills with others. But when he opened his mouth to speak, he had said "Yes," before he managed to reign in his words. No one had ever looked at him like Samot had these past few hours. It wasn't something he was willing to let go of just yet.
-
Samot paced the entire length of Samothes' forge from end to end, his feet bare against the stone floor. Otherwise he was dressed much like the people from the village he had haunted as a wolf--plain slacks and a pale linen shirt, so completely immaculate that no one could have mistaken him for a villager in truth. He didn't pace the way that Severia had, with fury in his step; instead it was a careful and measured walk, as if he was memorizing every detail to review later.
"Well?" Samothes asked, amused. "Does it pass inspection?"
"It will do," Samot said, coming to stand before Samothes. "What are you making?"
"Severia has been asking for a necklace," Samothes said. "She's been in the mood for jewelry lately. And if I tell her you helped me, perhaps that will assuage her anger, hmm?" This was true, though it was not the only reason Samothes had selected this particular project. The gold that Severia preferred almost perfectly matched the amber of the eyes Samot had as a wolf. It seemed fitting.
Samot listened patiently as Samothes explained each step. It rankled, a little bit, to tell Samot these things so easily, but Samothes trusted him. More quickly than he should have. And Samot clearly had no interest in working metal himself. He just wanted to know how it was done. To understand. Samothes could imagine the gears inside his head turning.
He sighed, when he was done, exasperated with himself, and he handed Samot the hammer. "You should feel the weight of it," he said.
Samot lifted it easily, despite his slight form. He turned it over in his hands. "I see why they call you Ingenuity," he said. "This is beautiful." He looked up at Samothes, gestured around to all the projects scattered about the forge, in various stages of completion. "You do beautiful work."
Samothes agreed. That was why he did the work, after all. But to hear Samot say it so straightforwardly, so wonderingly, was as unsettling as if Samot had tackled him again.
Samothes waved him off. "Flattery doesn't work on the metal, you know."
Samot flashed him a grin. "Perhaps you just haven't figured out the right way to go about it.” He handed the hammer back to Samothes, and then he sat by and watched avidly as Samothes completed his work.
Samothes preferred to do his work alone. He didn't let mortals set foot in his forge, and he didn't appreciate it when Severia or Galenica or even sometimes Samol barged in. It was his own holy space. But Samot’s presence didn't bother him. The weight of his eyes was a comforting one, like well-worn armor.
And Samot, like this, was beautiful too. He never lost focus on what Samothes was doing, even as he began to sweat from the heat of the flames.
Samothes, pausing to wipe the sweat from his own brow, eyed the curve of Samot's neck. He had tied his hair back with a blue ribbon. Samothes had never seen his throat so exposed before. His palms, still gripping the hammer, itched to touch him there.
He didn't. He might startle Samot. And anyway, it wouldn't do to interrupt his work before it was finished.
The necklace was beautiful, in the end. Samothes had to swallow the offer to give it to Samot instead.
Samothes did not get much else done for the rest of that day, even after Samot left. His presence, heavy, lingered.
Samol was going to laugh at him. Samothes knew it.
-
With time, Samothes saw Samot more often as a man than as a wolf. He began to frequent Samol's dinners, though he still avoided being in the same room with Severia. He continued to watch Samothes' people avidly, with insatiable curiosity, and soon enough he decided that he wanted a domain of his own.
"A place to call home," he told Samothes and Samol one night, tapping his knife against his empty plate. "I think it would be nice."
"What, this house ain't home enough for you?" Samol asked, but his eyes were dancing. He had only ever wanted for Samot to be one of them.
Samothes couldn't help the curl of disappointment that had taken root in his gut at Samot's words. He didn't begrudge Samot the same privileges the rest of them had. It was only that he would miss him, the constant presence he had at the edges of Samothes' life.
Samot, ever wise, noticed. He gave Samothes a knife of a smile, sharp and glinting. "Don't look at me like that, Samothes," he said. "You can always come visit." He held Samothes' gaze. And Samol, as Samothes had expected, began to laugh.
Samot vanished into the woods after dinner, as was his wont. Samothes took the dishes to the sink, washing them in his own quiet contemplation.
Samol had brought out his guitar and pushed his chair back from the table to play it, a wandering and soothing melody. “You boys,” Samol said, shaking his head.
“Well, you wanted us to get along.”
Samol laughed. “That I did. Don't mistake me, I'm probably the happiest old man alive. But you'll both twist yourselves into knots if you keep going like this. Dancing around each other.”
“Maybe I enjoy the dance. Didn't you once tell me a story about turtles and hares, father?”
Samol adjusted his fingers on the guitar and began to play a song Samothes recognized from when he was young, still discovering the world. “Sure I did. That's a story for children, and neither of you are children any longer.”
Samothes finished drying the dishes, and he went to sit beside Samol, listening to him play. He leaned his head against his hand and began to trace the grain of the wood on the table. “It's an odd thing to say, but--I’m glad you didn't kill him. Back when you could have. When you might have wanted to.”
Samol snorted. “You sound like you still think he's a threat.”
Samothes thought of how easy it had been to tell Samot all the things he usually kept close to his chest, the knowledge that should remain his alone. “He may be. I don't think I care anymore.”
“That boy sure as hell ain’t tame, but he adores you. He’s not gonna bite.” Samol finished his song, a final lingering chord. He looked up at Samothes’ face. “You do have it bad,” he said, shaking his head again. He slapped Samothes on the back. “Oh, don't look like that. There's cobbler in the oven. Maybe he’ll even come back to eat it with us.”
Samot did, dirt covering his feet and his ankles, a few branches stuck in his hair. Samothes barely tasted the cobbler.
-
Samothes did visit him. Severia had shaken her head at him when he asked her to keep an eye on his people for a little while, though she had not refused.
"Be careful, kid," she told him. "Don't let him devour you whole."
"Father was right," Samothes told her. "He's--well, he isn't harmless. But he won't harm us, anymore."
Severia only looked at him. "You and your sun," she said. "You always want to see things in the light. But there are shadows everywhere. You would do well to be more fearful of them."
"I’m not in the habit of being scared. You really ought to leave the protectiveness to Galenica," Samothes said. "They're much better at it."
That got a laugh out of Severia, and shook her out of her seriousness. She let Samothes go without too much more trouble. And so, pack over his shoulder, he walked past the villages and towns full of his people, the sun hot against his bare back, and made his way to the plains where Samot had made his home.
For a long while, there was only empty grass, but then Samothes crested the top of a hill and saw Samot's domain sprawling out below, a city of tents in riotous colors, pennants waving in the wind. The very ground was infused with joyousness, with life, flowers springing up in every free patch of dirt.
The people there weren't much like those that Samothes ruled over; they did their work well enough, it seemed, but afterwards, instead of retiring early to bed, they gathered around bonfires and laughed and drank and kissed, smiling long into the night. Samothes shook his head to see it. It was very Samot.
He found Samot himself in a white tent at the center of the gathering. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and he was sprawled back against a couch, lit by the candles that surrounded the tent. He grinned when Samothes entered. "You came," he said, eyes bright. "I'm impressed I managed to draw you out of your forge after all." He reached a hand out towards Samothes. Color was high in his cheeks, the same shade as the wine in his glass. "Come here," he said. "Drink with me." Samot always looked young--he was young--but Samothes had never seen him so carefree as this. Not even as a wolf, when Samot seemed most in his element. This flushed, bright-eyed boy, grinning earnestly and offering Samothes a drink, was just as much Samot as the wolf was. Samothes had only just begun to understand that.
"All right," Samothes said, and he let Samot draw him down to sit beside him. "You know, I don't think I've ever had wine before."
"Unbelievable," Samot said, smile bleeding into his voice. "Ingenuity Alive, and you never thought to crush up some grapes?"
"It didn't seem very productive."
Samot regarded him very seriously. "There will be no productivity tonight, I can promise you that. Someday, Samothes, you will have to learn that the time you spend away from your endeavors is just as valuable as that which you spend working." He poured Samothes a glass and handed it to him. “Perhaps I will have to teach you.”
It tasted sweet, like fruit and warmth and love. Samothes let it linger on his tongue, and he watched Samot, the long elegant sprawl of him. "You seem relaxed."
Samot tipped his head back, closed his eyes. "I am," he said. His speech had softened at the edges. "It's lovely here. Celebration after celebration. You should stay, for a while."
"I have my people and my forge," Samothes protested.
Samot took hold of Samothes' glass by the stem and put it to Samothes' lips, pressing forward. "Drink," he said. "You're always so serious. And your people will get on just fine without you. Your forge is, I'm sure, too in awe of you to dare to gather any dust."
Samothes obliged him, and drank, draining his glass. Samot refilled it and set it back in his hands. "It's my duty to protect them," he said. Samot laughed.
"Don't you think they need to learn how to protect themselves? They may not always have you there to do it for them."
"They will," Samothes said, sure.
"Such confidence," Samot said, teasing. He poured the rest of his own glass down his throat, setting it down on the ground. He slumped back against the couch, arms spread across the back of it. Samothes could feel the warmth of his arm behind him. "But you’re right. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."
Samothes looked down at him. Samot was still smiling lazily, but there was seriousness to his eyes that Samothes couldn't ignore. "No," Samothes agreed. He reached out to touch Samot's face, and Samot’s eyes fluttered. His cheek was soft. Samothes' tongue felt loose and heavy. He wasn't used to being drunk. "Do you know, I used to be afraid of you."
"You aren't still?" Samot leaned into his touch.
"No."
Samot's eyes opened, flashing gold. He bent his head to rest in the hollow of Samothes' throat, hand against his chest, lips and teeth against his neck. "You should be," he said. "Shadows aren't like anything else. They linger. They get into corners and they refuse to be rooted out."
Samothes rested his hand in Samot's hair. When he bent down to press his lips to Samot's forehead, his skin was clammy. "Ah," he said. "But the sun will always banish them."
"I hope so," Samot said. Muffled. Samothes ran his fingers through his hair and felt his own pulse race against Samot's palm. “You’re bright enough to banish anything. And you are so warm.”
“Well, you do keep giving me wine,” Samothes said. And Samot laughed, breath hot on Samothes’ neck.
-
Soon enough, Samothes returned to his own domain, and he saw Samot only in passing, at his father's home or in brief visits Samot made to his forge. He needled at Samothes to pause in his work, left bottles of wine behind him that Samothes never had the heart to drink without him.
Until one day a particularly persistent vine poked its way through the window of Samothes' forge and refused to leave.
Samothes sighed, and put down his hammer. His father never was very specific in his messages.
Samol’s home was not far away. The sky grew dark as he approached, clouds heavy in the sky. Samothes hurried.
The door to Samol's house was open, and blood lingered on the threshold, bright with divinity.
"Father?" Samothes said, panic creeping into his voice. But when he pushed his way inside, Samol stood whole, and it was Samot lying bloody across the polished wood of his kitchen table.
Samothes' stomach felt like ice. "What happened?"
"Someone felt like picking a fight with my sister," Samol said. "Took a good chunk out of her too, from what I hear. Oh, don't look like that. The boy'll be fine. Take a lot more than this kind of scuffle to put either of them out of commission." He looked down at Samot critically. "But she sure managed to hurt you enough to get blood all over my nice table, huh?"
"Take it up with her," Samot said tightly. His own hand was pressed to his abdomen, the flesh slowly knitting itself back together. It made Samothes ache to watch.
“You want sympathy, you’re gonna have to get it from Samothes,” Samol said. “You should have known better.” He turned to Samothes, exasperated. “You keep him company while I go talk to Severia, before she brings the sky raining down on all our heads.” He stalked out. “And don't let him bleed on anything else, you hear?”
Samothes, ignoring him, grabbed one of Samol’s dish towels and pressed it to Samot’s stomach, moving his hands out of the way. They were covered up to the wrists in blood. Samot breathed out heavily through his nose, as if he was restraining himself from snarling.
“Samol isn't really angry,” Samothes told him. “Well, he is a bit. But he's worried, too.”
Samot pressed his lips together. “I didn't mean to make him worry,” he said. “I just--I was hurt, and it was getting dark, and I didn't want to be alone.”
Samothes brushed his free hand against Samot’s forehead, keeping his hair out of his eyes. “You aren’t alone,” he said. Samot smiled up at him, a little dazed, teeth bloody. Samothes wondered if it was Severia’s or his own. “What happened?”
Samot looked away. “I started it,” he said, a thread of petulance running through his voice. He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I was taunting her. I think I just wanted a fight.”
He had stopped bleeding by now. Samothes took away the dishtowel and ran his fingers over Samot’s newly healed skin. “You can fight me,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.” Samot sat up, shaky. He leaned against Samothes’ shoulder. “But I don’t want to hurt you either. And sometimes I have to use my claws.” He laughed. “I suppose I’m getting bored.” He smiled against Samothes’ skin. “Your aunt is quite protective of you, you know.”
“Not really. She just likes to be contrary.”
Samot wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes I worry that she and I are too alike.”
“Wasn’t that by design?”
Samot made an offended noise, but he settled closer against Samothes, like he needed the contact. Samothes held him like that until he stopped shaking.
By the time Samol came back, they had cleaned up the house. He gave Samot another scolding, and gave Samothes one too for good measure, since he was there. And then, satisfied with Samot’s apology, he shooed them out of the kitchen so that he could make dinner.
When they both walked outside, the sun was shining again. Samot stood still and looked at it for a long time.
-
Severia, when Samothes asked her about her altercation with Samot, only snorted. She had not forgiven him for what he had done to her, not yet, but she seemed closer to it than she had in a long time. The fight had loosened her up a little. Severia always did like to flex her wings. “Do keep an eye on him, though,” she told Samothes. “He’s wily.”
When Samothes told Samot this, he laughed, swinging his legs against the table in Samothes’ forge where he sat. He had been visiting more often as of late. Samothes could see the restlessness growing under his skin. Samot never asked, but whenever Samothes explained something new to him, he drank in the knowledge like it was a goblet of wine, growing flush with it.
Samothes went back to Samot’s domain, and he watched him. Samot couldn’t complain; it was the way he himself had watched Samothes’ villagers. When Samothes arrived, the plains of celebration were much the same, the people still smiling and drinking and living.
Samot was much the same, too. He was truly more like Severia than he might like to admit; he was better accustomed to stillness than she was, but in his nature he rejected stability, just like she did.
He found Samothes lurking at the edges of the plains, and he rolled his eyes and tugged him to the bonfire. They sat and drank mulled wine that Samot had made--the mortals didn’t know how.
“I’ve been thinking,” Samot said finally, watching the fire dance.
“About?”
Samot ran a hand through his hair. “You’ll be angry.”
“Tell me you aren’t going to start something with Severia again. She’s about to come around, I think, if you can restrain yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Samot said, with a smile that suggested that he would. “But no. It’s about them.” He swept his hand out, gesturing at the people around them, all caught up in their own lives. “I meant it, when I said you should teach your people to protect themselves.”
Samothes bristled. “And I told you that I can protect them well enough on my own.”
Samot gave him a fond look. He lay his palm against Samothes’ cheek. “As if I would ever doubt it. It isn’t about that. You can’t always be there. What if I had wanted to hurt them, when you found me in the woods? That woman’s spear-work was atrocious. There should be a way for them to learn. A place that they can go.”
“You want to teach them to protect themselves?”
“Yes. And to do everything else.” Samot took another drink of his wine, and leaned back. “There is so much. That’s why I’m here, you know. Why I became more than Nothing. The world is beautiful, and I wanted to know everything about it. How can we keep that for ourselves?”
Samothes closed his eyes. “You’re dangerous,” he said. “Like they’ll be dangerous, if you let them.”
“And you fear that it will be your fault. For not protecting them from me, and from themselves.”
Samothes nodded. When he opened his eyes, Samot was watching him over his mug. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. And then he stood up. “I don’t want to argue.” And he held out his hand to Samothes. “Let me show you how to dance instead.”
They danced, late into the night. Samothes couldn’t hold onto his anger. And he didn’t want to, which was the most terrifying thing of all.
-
Samot only grew more restless. He still visited Samothes in his forge, where they sometimes laughed and sometimes argued and sometimes only sat in silence as Samot watched him work. And sometimes when Samothes went out among his people, the white wolf would join him, and then disappear into the woods as soon as Samothes had finished.
Today, there wasn’t anything in particular that Samothes needed to finish. But on occasion, the forge was the only place he could think. He was working on the base for a sword when Samot entered, his footsteps echoing in between the beats of Samothes’ hammer.
“I see you still haven’t learned to knock,” Samothes said, setting his hammer down and turning around. Samot was perched on a table, leaning back on his hands.
He looked comfortable. Samothes wondered what it would be like to have him there always.
“You wouldn’t hear me anyway,” Samot said. Samothes came to stand before him. “What are you making today?”
“Nothing important.”
Samot raised an eyebrow. “Each one of your holy creations is important,” he said, only a little ironic.
Samothes put a hand on one of Samot’s knees, and watched surprise ripple through his body, fading as he relaxed into it. Samol was always talking about compromise, and usually, Samothes scoffed. But maybe he had a point. “Tell me about this school you want,” he said.
Samot’s surprise this time was more sudden. His entire body tightened, and he blinked at Samothes slowly. Samothes reached out and brushed a thumb against his cheekbone.
“So you can tell me what a terrible idea it is?” Samot asked, voice light.
“Tell me about it, so I can tell you yes.”
Samot stared at him for the space of three breaths. The room felt very still. And then he began to speak. He told Samothes everything, all the plans he had been holding back: a sturdy tower, students from every corner of Hieron, a library with rows and rows of books. He came alive in the telling, the change so clear that it became obvious how much he had been restraining himself.
When he finished, he tilted his head, still cradled in Samothes’ hand. “Well?” he asked.
Samothes could still tell him no. Samot would accept it. He would argue, and he would pace, but he would listen. He would still come to Samothes’ forge and talk, so much less vivacious than he was now. His enthusiasm would fade in Samothes’ presence. It would probably take a long time for Samot to grow to hate him.
“I can show you how to design a tower,” Samothes said, and he leaned down and kissed him. It felt like another step in a dance. Samot made a hungry sound and kissed him back, voraciously, his mouth warm. Samothes drew back so that he could look at him, the flush on his cheeks and the way his eyes had gone wide, his fingers curling against the table.
Samot pressed his lips together. He licked his bottom lip, and Samothes' eyes were caught by the movement. "That's new," Samot said, considering. "Do it again."
Samothes bent his head and obliged him. Samot wrapped his arms around his shoulders, one of his hands buried in Samothes’ hair, nails biting into his scalp. They dug in hard when Samothes scraped his beard against Samot’s jaw and kissed his way down his neck. Samot tipped his head back, baring his throat. “Mm,” he said, his eyelids lowering as Samothes bit him there. “This is one of your better ideas, Ingenuity Alive.”
He was grinning as Samothes kissed him again, as Samothes ran one hand through his hair and pressed the other to his back, holding him close. Samot wrapped his legs around his waist, and he laughed when Samothes picked him up by the thighs, a joyous sound that echoed throughout the entire forge. Samothes thought that getting to hear that laugh every day would be worth anything.
-
They argued about what the university ought to look like, too, of course, sitting close over Samol’s kitchen table, knees touching as they bent over the blueprints. Severia looked down her nose at Samothes, and Samol still laughed at him, and Galenica only patted him on the shoulder. Samol made them put the blueprints away when it was time for dinner, but he didn’t try to stop them from talking about it. It would be useless to try to keep Samot quiet, anyway; his words were like a flood.
Samothes smiled so much it hurt, just from watching him like that.
The wolf still accompanied Samothes throughout his cities. But sometimes Samot the young man did too, in his crisp linen shirt, holding Samothes’ hand. Speaking to his people, asking them what they wanted to learn. The fought about that too, sometimes, but only in short bursts. Like a controlled burn, Samot said once, when he dragged Samothes into the forest for a picnic.
It was all worth it, for the look on Samot’s face when they started building. Wondering and open and bright, like a door opening wide.