Haydn propped him against the wall, remaining in contact. ‘Breathe, Meilyr. You’ll be all right.’
It had been some time since he had woven so forcefully, and it often hit with exhaustion in the moments after. But the bindweed rustled with more than the breeze. The jasmine prickled.
The world was too aware of him. He needed to be alone, to recentre. ‘Please, Haydn.’
Firm hands at his shoulders and the side of his head: comfort he flinched from but did not shake off.
‘Don’t ask me to leave when you’re like this.’ Haydn’s grip smoothed down his arm, his body close. ‘Breathe,’ he said, near his ear.
Meilyr turned to face him, wanting both to curl into him and push him away.
Haydn’s concern – his love – bled through every inch of him. He could have stepped from memory, freshly clambered over the garden wall in Gorsedd Arian.
He drew Meilyr into his arms, breaking more of his defences.
‘I’ve got you,’ he said against his hair. ‘You aren’t there, Meilyr. You’re here.’
Of course Haydn knew. Haydn, who Meilyr had collapsed into after Idwal’s death. After Meilyr had failed. After it had all been his fault.
He exhaled, and let the tumult of sensations and memory wash through him.
Haydn, there after Idwal had died. After Celyn’s grief had amassed in blame he could only throw at Meilyr. Haydn, offering comfort and grounding. Distraction.
Meilyr leaned into him, the familiarity bitter even as it balmed.
‘I’m here.’ Haydn kissed his temple, his cheek. Pulled the kerchief free to release Meilyr’s hair. ‘I’m here.’ He kissed his cheek again, his jaw.
His throat.
Meilyr froze.
Hot lips on sensitive skin, where Haydn knew he liked it most. ‘Meilyr…’
Meilyr pulled back, skull sharply meeting the wall. ‘What are you doing?’
Haydn looked quizzical, concern-edged. ‘I thought… Everything withhimis a lie?’
Everything was abruptly very, very wrong. ‘That’s not – I am stillmarried.’
More confusion. ‘Not really? You said yourself it was only to keep Celyn safe. No one will find us, if that is what you’re worried about?’
It was, and it was not, all at once.
The bloom of familiarity had grown thorns. The jasmine twitched in warning.
‘Stop,’ Meilyr said, pulling away. ‘Please, stop.’
Bewildered pain mapped Haydn’s face, just like the day Meilyr had broken it off. ‘Meilyr,’ he began, ‘I’m sorry—’
‘It’s fine.’
Meilyr strode past him, back into the house, as the congealing scenery blurred.
THIRTY-THREE
I am not long for this world, calon bach. We discussed italready, but it is my parting wish that Meilyr and Celyn be taken intoyour care in Caer Tarian.
I know it is dangerous, but they deserve to live a life.Especially Meilyr. This will be hardest for him, and I wish above allthings I could spare him yet another grief. He is trying, even now, andit is breaking him.