A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles #1)

by Foz Meadows

Cae found himself wrestling with a complex well of emotions provoked by the exhausted line of Velasin’s shoulder, the gentle arch of his neck. After several seconds, his mouth won part of the battle, and he said, “Velasin?” “Mm?” “This … friendship, that we’ve agreed to have. Does it include any casual intimacy?” Velasin jerked his head up. “What?” “Touch,” said Cae, neck burning as his stomach churned. “It’s been, as you said, an extremely long day, and I just … it feels wrong, to ignore the possibility of comfort.” “Comfort,” said Velasin, who was not quite trembling in place like a spooked deer. “What—I don’t know what—” “Just touch,” said Cae, and before he could lose his nerve, he stepped into Velasin’s space and slowly, slowly, put his hands on his shoulders. Velasin looked up at him with wide, soft eyes, but there was no fear in him; just a spark of astonishment as his lips parted on a gentle oh, gaze flickering between Cae’s eyes and mouth. Skin burning, Cae brushed his palms down Velasin’s biceps and up again, letting his fingers curl over his shoulders. Tentatively, he squeezed, and like it was a dam breaking, Velasin made a small, involuntary noise and embraced him, arms wrapped warmly around Cae’s back. Cae drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, one hand cradling Velasin’s head as the other supported his middle. He could feel Velasin’s head pressed against his collarbone through the fabric of lin and undershirt; was aware, intimately and profoundly, of t...

what if it was all possible, but nobody wanted me? To give up everything, only to learn that the fault was mine—that I wasn’t—that I couldn’t be wanted like that, not even in Tithena … I had rather stay in Ralia and never know, than leave and have that fear confirmed.” Caethari’s eyes were impossibly soft. “Of all the things you have to fear in Tithena, Velasin, being unwanted is not among them.”

Honestly! If you’re going to poison someone, poison them; if you’re going to stab them, stab them. Don’t go mixing and matching like an urchin at a rag-cart!”

“—whether you wish me rider or ridden, I am yours, Vel. Utterly yours.”

He lifted his head and looked at Cae, his gaze both soft and piercing. “You must be patient with me, dear Cae, as I learn to inhabit myself.” Mouth dry, he replied, “For you, anything.”

“Only a little.” “You fainted.” “Yes.” “Out of the way of a crossbow bolt?” “I am a man,” croaked Velasin, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, “of many talents.”