Wizard Rescue Pavoni 17

[setenaya]

Anat’s fourth waking came easier.

Temechi had gone; Sogetai was nearby, talking quietly in Korchin. The other voice was… Jorike, Anat thought, though it was hard to be sure.

He cracked an eye open. Yes, that was Jorike, sitting on Temechi’s otherwise empty bed. Only Sogetai’s feet were visible, dangling from the top bunk.

At least he hadn’t been abandoned.

Carefully, he levered himself up. The jewelry was still bundled on the floor; someone had leaned his dataslate against it.

As he made to reach for it, Jorike said, in Gothic, “Are you well today?”

Sogetai made no reply. Jorike wasn’t even looking at him—he was staring at—

Anat froze.

“So he’s awake?” Sogetai said, and dropped down from above. Anat immediately ducked behind him, which proved ineffective when Sogetai moved to lean on the bedpost. But he also reached over to pet Anat’s head.

Sogetai liked his hair. Would he be angry that Anat hadn’t washed it yet? But right now, he didn’t seem annoyed. Anat leaned into his touch, cautiously, and edged closer to him on the bed.

Jorike looked oddly crestfallen. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Anat wondered what he had to apologize to Sogetai for. Sogetai hadn’t sounded offended, as far as he could tell.

Anat wished they’d spoken in Gothic; then he might know. No—that was a dangerous wish. He wished he spoke Korchin; that was better.

Safer to want himself to change than them.

Anat wondered if Sogetai would sit on the bed again, as he and Temechi had yesterday, as they worked on his hair and the necklaces. But he remained standing, hand on Anat’s head.

Sogetai and Jorike resumed their conversation in Gothic—or perhaps started a new one; there was no hint of any prior insult. The conversation was little more comprehensible for the change in language. They discussed many unfamiliar Chogorian names, but with no military terms to give Anat context.

It was, at least, clear that Anat himself was not under discussion, even if Jorike’s eyes kept returning to him. Beyond that…

Was that the word ‘horse’? Probably not important to his survival, then.

Anat would have liked to return to his book, but with Jorike paying so much attention it seemed unwise. Even with Sogetai right there—if he annoyed Jorike by too obviously ignoring him, would Sogetai defend him or side with his friend?

So he leaned awkwardly against the bedpost—and Sogetai—and did his best to find meaning in rambling gossip about horses and their owners and riders. It seemed that some astartes did own horses, though they were too large to ride, and of course the creatures did not join them in battle. That was something, he supposed.

He was on the verge of yawning when Jorike abruptly said, “I think we’re boring our cousin.”

Bored, Magnus?

“No, I swear—” Anat was babbling. He grasped for words of their conversation, but he couldn’t remember which names belonged to horses and which to people, let alone string together words in an order that would convince them he’d been properly attentive—

(The captain had never let him try to convince him that he hadn’t been doing something worth punishing. But maybe the White Scars—)

“Shh,” Sogetai said, and resumed petting his hair.

Jorike made an abortive gesture towards Anat. “It’s fine, you’re fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I should go—um—see if my sergeant has any orders for me.”

Anat watched him go, befuddled. Sogetai said nothing, only lifted his hand. Anat dared a glance at him—was that a smile?

He got his dataslate and opened the book. But instead of reading he stared at it with an unfocused eye, thinking.

Jorike had been addressing him. Perhaps both times—earlier he might have been speaking to Sogetai, but it wasn’t possible that he could have thought he frightened another White Scar. It would have been a terrible insult to suggest he had. So—

The other day, Temechi had thought Anat was worth apologizing to. Did Jorike? Did he think he was worth greeting?

Anat pressed hands to knees, took in a breath and let it out.

Even if Jorike were only afraid of annoying Sogetai—that still meant that Sogetai’s displeasure meant something to him, and that Jorike believed Sogetai didn’t want Anat frightened. That was still better than what Anat had assumed, before.

Besides, Jorike would have had no reason to enquire after Sogetai’s health. Space marines didn’t do so as a matter of course, not with each other.

And… the other day, in the commotion of the head-showing, Jorike had asked him if he was all right. Twice. And he’d made sure that he saw the captain’s head, when otherwise he might not have.

A kindness. Or—

Did Jorike want him?

Well. Why be surprised? It was what he was for, after all. It was why the Wolves had kept him alive, and if it was not why the White Scars had stolen him, it was surely a side benefit.

But… if that was what Jorike wanted, surely he had only to ask Sogetai or Temechi.

Perhaps it wasn’t their choice, or maybe he was certain they would say no. Still. Did Jorike’s actions fit? He hadn’t tried to get Anat on his own, but maybe he was working up to that. Or… Anat didn’t know how White Scars paid court.

It seemed ridiculous, on the face of it, that anyone would treat him that way. He was another warrior’s prize, no more than that, and to treat him as a man worth courting was an insult to his owners—

But that was how the captain would have thought of it, and the captain was dead.

Well. It wasn’t the only explanation for the incident of the head, either. But if that gesture had been meant to make clear to him who owned him now, Anat wished Jorike had spoken aloud. And this alternate theory did nothing to explain why Jorike kept greeting him and asking after his health.

Whatever he’d meant by it, he’d gone out of his way.

And Anat had ignored him—

Stop. Breathe.

Should he apologize—or would that imply Jorike had the right to ask restitution of him, when that could only take one form?

Sogetai hadn’t seemed to think he ought to. But Anat wasn’t sure he could trust Sogetai’s judgement in such matters.

He would ask Temechi, the next time they were alone.

And maybe, if he seemed to be in a good mood, Anat could ask him what Jorike might have meant by it.

Maybe it really had just been a kindness. But he couldn’t bear, just yet, to risk believing that.