“You’re disrupting our entire way of life,” Narseh blurted in despair. “No one has ever done such a thing!”

“Perhaps not everything in the Arya way of life is worth adhering to.”

Ardashir didn’t say the next thought aloud, nor did he send it through mainyu, but Narse knew it nonetheless. ‘If anyone should understand this, it’s you. Both you and Justin.’

No, in truth, the Prince hadn’t voiced it at all — he was too tactful. Narseh knew it all too well himself. Neither he nor Justin would still be alive if Ardashir had adhered strictly to Arya customs. But Narseh was too angry, and his emotions carried him away.

“And who decides what to adhere to and what not to? You?!”

“Yes, me. That is precisely what my position entails.”

“Like in the Juniper Land, when you decided everything for me without even asking if I wanted it?!” Narse shouted. He spun around sharply, blind with rage, and rushed toward the grotto’s exit. He barely registered Ardashir’s helpless parting call:

“Narseh…”

***

“Is it alright if I just drop by like this?” asked Justin, sitting in Narseh’s kitchen. “I caught two hares and even shot some bird as fat as a piglet. We could roast a hare on the coals and uncork one of those nice bottles the merchant from Sugd brought.”

He was grinning broadly, his cheeks flushed from the evening chill. It was hard to believe that the Other Side would claim him soon. Not right now, not tomorrow or the day after, not even at the upcoming negotiations if the Prince was to be believed — although, could he be trusted at all? — yet the Weaver had made it clear: Justin didn’t have much time left.

But now, he looked vibrant, more alive than Narseh. Justin always seemed so full of life, in contrast making Narseh feel like nothing more than a shadow, a footprint of a man.

Once, Prince Ardashir had tasked Narseh with looking after Justin, teaching him Arya skills and customs. Narse hadn’t understood at first. What kind of guardian could he be? He barely lived himself, functioning only out of habit. Since his old self had died in Juniper Land, Narseh felt hollow, like a sieve that had been drained empty. He had molded himself into what Justin seemed to need: kind, competent, patient enough to laugh at his foolish jokes, pedantic enough to explain things he didn’t understand. Sometimes it felt like Narseh wasn’t even a real person, just wax molded into this particular shape. He could have just as easily molded himself into something else — would it even matter?

The hare and the mentioned bird lay on the table near the hearth. Narseh said:

“Of course, with pleasure. But where’s the second hare?”

“I took it to Gisu,” Justin confessed.

“Ah, I see,” Narseh smiled. “Gisu, then... Careful, Karthir might not like that.”

“If Gisu doesn’t like something, she’ll say so herself,” Justin replied reasonably.

Narseh knew from Justin that women in Bizanth were bound by many absurd rules and restrictions. There, gifts for women or even private conversations, unless you were bound by specific ties, were unacceptable. Justin had adapted quickly to the Arya’s more independent women and found their autonomy to his advantage. He accepted rejection graciously, though rejections were rare. If Justin weren’t so overwhelmingly charming, Prince Ardashir’s decision to spare his life — a former prisoner and enemy — would have been a burden for both the Arya and Justin himself.

“Besides, Gisu and Karthir are only sharing a bed, that's not particularly serious, is it...? Not everyone limits themselves to one bed companion,” Justin continued. “By the way, I’ve already brought her something before. Helped with little things. Here’s a secret: nothing’s sexier than showing care.”

“I know. That’s why I sewed up your travel bag,” Narseh smiled, tossing the mentioned bag to Justin. Justin ran his fingers over the patches — they were nearly invisible, as proper patches should be, but Justin was clearly surprised by the neatness.

“Museum-worthy work. But Narseh, you and sexuality?” he laughed. “Olympian gods! The day you realize what it is, the stars will fall from their orbits.”

“What’s wrong?” Narseh asked, slightly wounded. “I attend full-moon games occasionally, to strengthen my connection with the fravashi...”

“When you stop talking about sex like it’s a wagon that occasionally needs its wheels tightened and axles greased, then we can talk about sexuality. But better not about yours.”

“You never cared before whether I understood this or not. You were more than willing to discuss the sexuality of Gisu, Aryazateh, Koshm...” Narseh frowned meaningfully. “Did I miss anyone? Maybe someone specific?”

Justin sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Someone was missed. Yeah... Honestly, I don’t understand why you haven’t cursed me out and thrown me out yet. If I found out my friend was ready to leave everything and run home — even die, literally — for some unknown girl, I’d think he’s out of his mind and a lousy friend.”

“You’re a good friend,” Narseh said seriously. “The best one. But I’m hurt you never even mentioned her. This girl. This Daisy...”

Justin had always enjoyed boasting of his bed conquests. Who was this Daisy to him, so precious that he feared to tarnish her with a single careless word?

Justin deftly skinned and gutted the hare, searching through the spice supply. Among Arya, he had learned all the skills necessary for survival: setting up camp, lighting fires in the wind or rain, cooking, repairing clothes and shoes, identifying edible berries and mushrooms — things he had likely left to slaves or never considered in his previous life. Not all tasks pleased him; his stitching, for example, always lacked finesse. But he was an excellent cook and could make something decent even in the roughest conditions.

The whole time Justin was busy with the hare, he remained silent. But after seasoning the meat, he spoke thoughtfully:

“You know, once I decided: never give your heart entirely to another person. Leave a few locked rooms for yourself. The world is vast, and my future is ahead of me. And yes, I met beautiful, smart, and amazing women — truly incredible. But...”

“But someone still ended up living in those rooms meant for yourself?” Narseh asked quietly.

“Something like that. Or maybe died and rotted there instead...” Justin buried his face in his hands. “Damn it, Narseh. I wanted to tell you about her many times, and even now! But I just don’t know how.”

Still hiding his face, he looked at Narseh through splayed fingers.

“Why don’t you just look into my head? You can do that, right?”

Narseh grimaced. He never liked seeing images of sex in others’ minds — at best, it was awkward.

“Nothing happened between us,” Justin said. “No, really. Look.”

Hesitantly, Narseh reached for his thoughts.

A torrent of memories crashed over him, momentarily deafening. A single round face appeared in them all. The girl was passionate, impulsive, sometimes laughing, sometimes suddenly and inexplicably grim. Her hair shone with copper like Justin’s own.

In this memory, she was still a child of about eight years old, with cunning eyes: “I have an idea. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

This one was unexpected: she was a skinny, leggy teenage girl, and she slapped Justin hard: "How many times have I told you not to watch those fights? Love seeing people get beaten? Here, have some!”

And here she was a already a fully blossomed young woman, and Justin scolded her with unusual seriousness and coldness: “That was wrong. Worse, it was cruel.”

“And you — you only ever lecture me! I hate you!”

Strangely, the memories carried little or no desire. Very few did, tinged with the bitterness of forbidden fruit. In one, she sat under a tree, clothes askew, scratches on her limbs: fallen from a branch? She looked about fourteen, but her sly gaze beneath lowered lashes wasn’t childish at all.

“You know the saying: a kiss makes everything better,” she teased, slowly running her hand over her scraped knee. Narseh felt Justin’s breath hitch, his shame like his own: 'My God, what am I even thinking about? She can’t mean it like that — she’s just a child — no, I'm afraid she knows exactly what she’s doing — and it’ll only get harder, she knows how to get her way no worse than her father…'”

“You saw that one too?” Justin asked, embarrassed as he broke the mind connection. Narseh nodded.

If this girl hadn’t shone like a jewel in Justin’s memories, Narseh wouldn’t have liked her. She was fiery, dangerous like a flame, arrogant, convinced she knew better than anyone, repeatedly making the same mistakes, and at times utterly ruthless. Yet Justin knew her thoroughly — faults and all — and adored her anyway. Narseh was struck by the realization that he’d arrogantly believed such love, seeing a person completely, was unique to Arya.

“I knew her all my life,” Justin explained. “Or rather, all her life: I was seven years older. At that age, it seemed like such a vast difference. She was my somewhat-cousin-niece.”

“Hmm... In Bizanth, is that considered a reason to avoid a relationship?”

“Not usually. But in our case, yes. And that wasn’t the only reason why I couldn’t even entertain the thought of something between us. Honestly, I couldn’t. As for what she herself thought, once she stopped being a child... I don’t know. Maybe I was just part of her childhood games and fond memories. Yet for some reason, her father decided she had a thing for me. So he sent me to the army, though I could barely tell which end of a sword to hold...”

“Alright, I’ll head out,” he said, though without much conviction. “But it’s freezing out there...”

“Stay here,” Narseh offered readily. “Oh, I almost forgot to show you: I got another bed just so you wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor anymore! We can set it closer to the hearth so you’re warm.”

“You’re a treasure,” Justin said cheerfully and at the same time seriously. “I don’t know anyone better or kinder than you. I hope, when you finally come to grips with your sexuality, that person appreciates you properly.”

Narseh laughed. He set up the bed for Justin, covering him with several blankets. Justin mumbled sleepily:

“Still can’t get used to these cold evenings... In the Great City, that only happens in winter. At this time of year, the heat hasn’t even started to fade. You and I would be sitting on a balcony with ice-cold wine, looking at the sea..." He stopped, suddenly realising what he was saying. “A raven take that Great City! And all of Bizanth with it. I so hoped to forget about this trip...”

“I could speak to the Prince again, see if he’ll let me go with you...” Narseh offered half-heartedly. Arya rarely lied, but this was one such occasion: he knew his fallout with Ardashir was irreparable. Narseh hadn’t yet told Justin, not wanting to burden him further, but he was preparing to pack his things and leave Eranshahr soon, seeking refuge with another clan.

“C'mon. Stop babying me. You’re like an overbearing mom. Besides, I’m glad you’re not coming. When we share a tent, you always steal my blankets, you know.”

“That never happened,” Narseh protested.

“Oh, it did. You wrap yourself up in all the furs like a pita, and I’m left shivering like a chicken...”

Within minutes, Justin was snoring, as he always fell asleep quickly, like a child. And Narseh himself, also hidden from the cold of the night under blankets and furs, tossed and turned in bed for a long time. He had been worried about Justin ever since their meeting with the Threadweaver, and today, on top of that, he was troubled by something else — an unfamiliar envy.

What Justin had shown him — a subtle, deeply hidden passion, barely surfacing beneath layers of familial and friendly affection — somehow excited Narseh, had stirred some incomprehensible feelings of his own.

For Narseh, romantic love remained a mystery. Among those the Other Side brought together during full-moon games, it wasn’t uncommon to share a bed afterward, especially among the younger ones. That was understandable — under the games’ intoxication, almost everything and everyone seemed appealing. Some things were undeniably more so than others... But speaking of partners, it was more difficult: each sobering up brought a detached, sometimes unpleasant realization — there was no desire to repeat the experience with the same people. Better say, “Well, thanks, we played well,” and part ways, as awkward as it may be. Fortunately, like everything related to the Other Side, every games were half-forgotten soon after, like a dream.

Maybe he was just one of those who needed other warmth? Being a friend, helper, apprentice — wasn’t that enough..?

The ambassadors were bidden farewell at the city gate. There were twelve of them, not counting Justin, one from each Arya clan, as agreed. Those Narseh knew were powerful mages, and at least Roxhana understood the situation well enough to conduct meaningful discussions with Bizanth’s ambassadors.

The Prince was there too. He might discuss details with the ambassadors and bid them farewell with the customary kisses on both cheeks, but that would come later. First, he would transport them to the Gray Ridge, sparing them the long journey on foot. From there, they would travel to the Iron Pass, as the Arya lands considered relatively safe ended at the Gray Ridge. Beyond lay the borderlands with Bizanth; teleporting there would be imprudent.

It was not only Narseh, who came to see Justin off, but also two girls, Gisu and another girl, not of the Owl clan, whose name Narseh did not know. Narseh intended to offer Justin some encouraging words but, after Narseh had (unobtrusively, he thought) inspected his friend’s attire to ensure he was warm enough and appropriately dressed for the trek, Justin mouthed silently: “Fussy mom.” Slightly offended, Narseh merely clapped his shoulder and said:

”Try not to do anything foolish.”