Danya woke up alone in the tent the next morning. Or was it morning? He had no way to tell anything more than that the sun was up without leaving the tent.

He was exhausted. Mages healed much faster and more completely than humans, but it certainly took a toll on them physically. Not that Danya had ever actually experienced it before. The life he had lived had been far too sheltered.

Danya stretched out and his elbow knocked into a canteen. He yawned as he rolled over and discovered a few hard biscuits wrapped in paper next to it. Had Simon left them for him?

Pushing himself up felt so achingly difficult that it was strange to remember how easy it usually was to move his body. Even eating the biscuits was a chore that he struggled through, though he could already feel his body thanking him for it. He had been too tired to think about food, but he had badly needed it.

He had never felt so alone. Or… maybe as a young child, sometimes. They had been told the role they played in this world was a natural one, but Danya could remember feeling the deep absence of parents he’d never known. The matron had watched over a dozen children at any one point, leaving her little time to spare for each of them individually. She had cared for them, but she hadn’t been their mother. She had merely kept them alive, kept them in line.

Being sent on to Milaine House for sale when he had turned thirteen had been terrifying, but in the end it had been preferable. There had been older children there who had cared for the youngsters. Later, when that role had fallen to Danya, Duran and Fanner had become like brothers to him.

And now he was nothing to nobody once more. Simon had no time to care for him — only to keep him alive, keep him in line.

Danya hoped someday he could accept that, could stop feeling this anxious, desperate craving for more. But… not today. Today he didn’t have the energy to be strong.

On the other side of the tent, Simon’s cot called to him. He wanted to snuggle up in it, preferably against Simon’s body, but… maybe even alone it would bring him some comfort. Maybe, if he allowed himself that, he could find the strength to be what Simon wanted when he was around. He bit the inside of his lip to ground himself as he reminded himself what that was — minimally existent.

He would just lay down for a few minutes. He could lay his own blanket over the top of Simon’s bedding so that his current state of uncleanliness didn’t cause any mess, and… yes. Just for a few minutes.

Danya flopped down onto Simon’s cot and let out a sigh. It felt as good as he had hoped and viciously lonely all at once. Perhaps if he had been cleaner himself he could have at least breathed in Simon’s scent, but the smell of his own dried blood was overwhelming. He had almost died and all he wanted was a hug, but he was owed nothing. The fact that he hadn’t been executed, that he hadn’t even been punished, was an unimaginable kindness and he had no right to ask for anything more.

He curled up small and squeezed his damp eyes shut, just for a minute…

The sound of something slapping against the tent flap startled him awake.

It took a moment for Danya to remember where he was, and then exactly where he was. He pushed himself to his feet and guiltily bundled up his blanket.

Something slapped against the tent flap again, and Danya realised it had been deliberate. A kind of knocking.

Now that Danya was paying attention, he quickly realised he could feel another mage outside. He tossed his blanket back towards his own cot and went to see who was there.

Hair that shimmered in the sun like gold — like Duran’s, and Fanner’s, and all the other boys’ Danya had left behind — was the last thing Danya had expected to see at a military camp. This mage was several years older than Danya, but with delicate features and that golden hair that hung soft and loose to his shoulders he met the Companion ideal perfectly. Danya was immediately envious and reflexively fond of him.

The mage gave Danya a smile and inclined his head respectfully. “I’m Cailan. Officer Bolasco instructed me to bring you some clean robes.”

Danya finally stopped scrutinising Cailan’s features long enough to notice the bundle of fabric he was holding. He had no idea who Officer Bolasco was, though. Definitely not Simon. His last name was Bell. “Oh… thank you?”

“Hamish,” Cailan explained at Danya’s look of uncertainty. “He’s drinking with my master, Liam Roy.”

“Oh!” Danya stepped aside to let Cailan into the tent. Hadn’t Hamish said something about someone named Liam? That he might be a good fit for Simon’s unit? “Simon — I mean, Captain Bell, my master — he and Hamish are friends. They only ever address one another by their first names.”

“Please, don’t let me be a worry to you.” Cailan set the bundle of robes down next to Danya’s bed. “This can be a difficult place for our kind. I’m not here to pass judgement on you.”

Danya couldn’t necessarily say the same, as he suspected Hamish had sent Cailan to him with the intention that Danya would extract information about his relationship with his master from him. Still, he let some of the tension relax out of his shoulders. “Sorry. The last few days have been… rather hectic.”

“You’re not out of balance, are you?”

Danya laughed tiredly. “No. I would have to have energy for it to be out of balance.”

He didn’t mention that once he did recover that would likely become a problem because Simon had no interest in touching him. Simon had made it very clear that matters involving the nature of their relationship were strictly confidential.

“I heard about what happened.” Cailan’s gaze traced the scratches that ran down Danya’s throat. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Cailan looked so much like the boys Danya had grown up with that it was tempting to simply collapse in his arms and cry, but Danya knew that would be unwise. He turned his attention to the pile of plain robes instead and picked one up. “Something clean to wear is exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

“Hamish thought you might appreciate it, and of course Liam didn’t mind me donating some of my old robes. He gives me far more than I need.”

Danya examined the robe in his hands. It was of a simple, practical design, but the fabric was soft and the china blue had obviously been chosen to match Cailan’s eyes. Maybe even dyed specifically for him. “Your master must be quite wealthy to have afforded such a fine slave, and with enough left over to spoil him.”

“Well, it’s a family wealth, but yes. Here, let me help.”

Danya lifted his arms and let Cailan tug his filthy old robe off. He could swear he heard it crackle from the stiffness of dried blood as it went past his ears. “It’s an unusual job choice for someone wealthy, isn’t it? The upper class usually makes the wise choice of avoiding the front lines.”

Cailan tossed Danya’s old robe aside and brushed his hands together, cleaning them off with a tiny release of magic. “Few of any class make wise decisions at sixteen.”

Danya grimaced down at himself. The crimson robe had disguised the blood well, but his fair skin did not. He was absolutely filthy. He looked like a murderous vagrant.

“He’s surely much older than that now,” Danya pointed out. “It must have taken more than childish impulse to carry him this far.”

Cailan’s eyes scanned Danya’s body, but he seemed unperturbed by the mess. This was probably nothing compared to the state of his master after battle. “He has had ample opportunity to choose a new path in life, of course, but he has a certain… attachment to the lifestyle. Or at least an attachment to not following the path his father would choose for him.”

Danya focussed magic into his fingertips and then brushed them down his chest, sweeping away the dried blood that clung to his skin. “I imagine that would be one you played a lesser role in.”

“Yes, and of course marriage and children would soon be expected.” Cailan noticed what Danya was doing and hurried to help him. “Please, let me do that. You’re already exhausted.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Being cleaned by someone else felt intimate. Not in a sexual way; it was simply familiar. Like a cat grooming another cat. Whenever Danya was too outspoken and got sent to isolation in the dusty basement for hours or days, Duran would sit him down afterwards and do this for him.

Cailan touched Danya’s arm. “Would you like me to change these bandages?”

Danya’s hand reflexively clamped around the bandages on his wrist. He had almost forgotten about them and the shame they concealed. He was sure if Cailan saw the cuts he would know what Danya had done.

“Ah… no. Simon has been tending to them for me.”

Cailan smiled. “I understand. It is nice, sometimes, to be the one being cared for.”

“Yes, that’s— yes.”  Danya shifted his bandaged wrist just slightly so that it hung behind his hip. It wasn’t entirely out of view, but perhaps it would draw less focus. “So he — your master — his father would forbid him the company of a male Companion if he were to leave the military?”

“Can a grown man’s father forbid him anything?” Cailan smiled and shook his head, his fingertips tickling against Danya’s neck as they brushed dried blood away. “His father was who gave me to him. A… rather bold approach to dealing with his son’s sexual deviancy when others would have turned to discipline instead. His father understands that there is a permanency to a man’s desires.”

“Yet he would push him to marry?”

“Mm.” Cailan’s fingers combed through Danya’s hair. “He’s an only child. There would be… expectations. His father would never cut him off for failing to meet them, understand, but Liam does not want me to have to be a dirty secret. The military offers a certain limited acceptance for men like my master and Hamish, so long as they keep things out of view. Beyond that, the only fields that would accept it involve working with slaves in some way.”

“And he does not wish to do that?”

“He…” Cailan pursed his lips together in thought. “He’s a kind man when it comes to those weaker than himself. What part could such a man play in the slave industry without it destroying him?”

“I suppose,” Danya murmured. He didn’t have the energy to push this conversation further. He shut his eyes and finally let himself relax into the warm, gentle brush of Cailan’s magic. 

Danya didn’t even realise he’d leant in until his forehead touched Cailan’s shoulder. Cailan was still for a moment, and then his arms came up and encircled Danya in a loose hug. Cailan felt like Duran had when his master was around — the stability inherent to a well loved slave. Danya could question and pry for tidbits all he liked, but that sensation, that inner calm, told him more than any words could.