The woods once again revealed a path to Rowan in his liminal sight as he thought about the quickest way to the town. This one was in a different direction than the path to the village from the other day, but as he walked, the trail seemed to unwind through the green and brown, forming itself with each step he took.
"This is really very impressive." Wren's voice held a note of encouragement. "Are you even aware of what you are doing?"
Rowan climbed over a fallen log and on a whim, turned right through a gap between the trees. "I'm just walking. I felt like turning here, so I did. I'm trying not to think too much about it."
"You felt like turning, and the woods felt like responding. Quite a connection you have. You truly don't see it?"
"It's really nothing. I'm just following my instinct."
"You're following your magic." Wren made a tsking sound. "They've really failed you. You seem to believe you are limited to one thing, and only if it suits them."
Rowan didn't need to ask who Wren meant by them. "You seem to believe I'm not happy to serve. I've taken—"
Wren waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Vows. I just don't understand why you would agree to those particular shackles. Wouldn't it feel so much better to be free? Master Caretaker, I believe you have the potential to be quite the illusionist."
"Stop. Not another word. I have no interest in working that kind of magic. And neither should you. It goes against the Order."
Wren laughed. A squirrel bolted up a tree at the loud, throaty sound, chattering an admonishment as it vanished in the branches overhead.
Rowan's face burned. He was used to being degraded. He was well-practiced in blocking it out, retreating mentally to an inner world of song and the sunlight of his garden. But his ward's casual laughter at what he'd sworn his life to bothered him more than any beating ever had.
Why should he care what Wren thought about him personally? It was obvious the young man hated the Order.
Now that Rowan had given him a new form, it was his job to make sure that hatred didn't turn into action. That was what mattered, not hurt feelings. The very concept of hurt feelings in this case was ludicrous.
"You said no one would see you, yet here you are, following on my heel, trampling every branch with your boots, and startling everything within earshot with your mockery."
Wren peered at Rowan's face. "Poor Master Caretaker. I'm not ridiculing you. You don't need to walk faster to get away from me."
"I can still see you." Rowan shot him a glare.
"But no one else can. You must believe me. Besides, don't you want to look after me? You need to see me to do that."
"Yes. In the garden. Where I told you to wait."
Wren laughed again. "I think I could be taken in by that expression on your face. It's almost better than the one you wear when you're worried about me. And I feel obligated to point out that these are your boots. I can change them. I only kept them this long because it seems to make you happy to dress me."
And feed him. And sing to him and give him blankets at night.
The heat in Rowan's face turned from annoyance to something else. "It doesn't make me happy. It's a necessity if I'm to do my duty."
"Don't be ashamed. I don't mind."
"My shirt looks ridiculous on you, anyway. The pants, too. You look like I left you out in the sun to dry, and everything shrunk."
"I assure you, nothing of mine shrunk."
Rowan ignored that last comment. "I've done such a poor job…I should have gotten you something better by now."
"Now, now. My Caretaker has poured his heart and voice into me day and night. I don't want him to feel bad about my pitiful appearance."
Rowan sensed a ripple in his liminal vision, and he stopped walking to turn toward the magical disturbance. Wren was there, but his ill-fitting clothes were gone. He was now dressed as he was that first night on the bridge.
A black coat outlined his trim waist and broad shoulders, flaring slightly at the hip to fall in a smooth swath of midnight fabric below the knees. Two neat rows of silver buttons emphasized the contours of his chest. Black pants tucked neatly into the high, lace up boots that glowed with the soft shine of expensive leather. A loose white shirt provided a crisp contrast to the sharp blackness of the rest of him, like moonlit snow against the darkest sky.
The first time Rowan had seen Wren like this, it was night and he had barely recovered from hitting his head on a tree.
Now he could make out the details of the red and black embroidery that crisscrossed in an intricate geometric pattern along the open neckline of the shirt. Black and red tassels hung not just from the neck of the shirt, but also from the laces of his boots. A wide belt made from the same leather as his boots and tied with braids of red and black cinched his waist.
On one hand, rings of lace-like filigree adorned his knuckles. The silver flashed as he pushed the curtain of his partially unbound hair over his shoulder. A small braid hung behind one ear, and silver chains as fine as spider silk sparkled against the black.
"I really wish you hadn't done that." Rowan's pulse quickened, as if his heart was shocked awake by the sight of his ward in what was obviously his true form. Though still youthful, he seemed taller somehow, more imposing. He was cloaked in a dangerous beauty that probably shouldn't be trusted.
Wren's lips tugged down at the corners. "Why? Have I become offensive?"
"No."
The frown transformed into a cocky half-smile. "You are blushing. Why is that? Does my improved appearance perchance please you, Master Caretaker? Even your freckles are turning red."
"I'm not blushing. This is annoyance you see. You are so…"
"Yes?"
"Irritating. And I would rather not think about…things." Like how Rowan was willfully ignoring what shouldn't be ignored. He could no longer deny that not only had he harvested the Prince of Illusion's soul because he thought it was lovely and he liked the way it felt in his hand, but then he'd followed it up by throwing all logic out the window and growing the man a new body in a flowerpot in his bedroom.
So much for the vows he liked to get offended about.
"Then don't think about things. Or will you tell me to leave now? Do you finally require answers to be spoken aloud? I could be dangerous, you know. The Order definitely would not approve."
Rowan felt restless under Wren's black-gold scrutiny. "Are you dangerous?"
"Not to you."
Rowan swallowed and resumed his walk down the ever-changing path. He'd already crossed a line he shouldn't have. He didn't think he could turn back even if he wanted to. "I told you to wait at home, and you see where that got me. I don't think I'll waste my breath telling you to leave. I just wish you would promise to do as I say once we get there."
Wren hesitated, and Rowan thought he might have been surprised by his answer. Well, that made two of them.
Before Rowan had taken more than a few steps, Wren hurried to catch up to him. "Why don't you widen the path? Try willing it to make room for two. I want to walk next to you."
As it was, the path barely allowed one to pass without being scratched by a branch or swallowed by the undergrowth. "I can't do that," Rowan mumbled.
"Go on. Just will it to be the way you want it to be. You've already been doing it without thinking about it. It will be easy, you'll see."
Rowan inhaled. He wondered if it could truly be considered dabbling in Disorder to merely think about widening the trail, then he wondered why he was always so willing to give Wren what he wanted. In one breath, the image of a wider path formed in his mind, in the next, the path spread out between two trees in response.
Wren took his place at Rowan's side, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. Rowan glanced up at his companion, who beamed down at him as if Rowan had just spoken his first word. "See. I knew you could do it. Imagine what else lies dormant behind that tender gaze of yours."
Rowan really wished Wren would quit saying things like that. He didn't know how to process the feelings those offhand comments stirred up, or to untangle the way his chest felt full every time Wren gave him a word of praise.
He was a celibate. There was no room for these uncomfortable feelings within the well-defined parameters of his role as Caretaker. But then again, there was no room for a leisurely walk through the woods with the Order's enemy within those parameters either.
Rowan had to consider the very real possibility that he had become a fraud.